


Fatal Flaw

by Azia



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Asphyxiation, Cannibalism, F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, M/M, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Recreational Drug Use, Spoilers, Warnings In Author's Notes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:20:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27716699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azia/pseuds/Azia
Summary: It was a long journey back home. (The brain is a prison. Forever inescapable, even after death.)Seven stories of seven fatal flaws and one final flaw.
Relationships: Asmodeus (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Beelzebub (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Belphegor (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Leviathan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader
Comments: 26
Kudos: 91





	1. Jacob's Ladder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ryukshole](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryukshole/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Evil Deeds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27069487) by [MadCitadel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadCitadel/pseuds/MadCitadel). 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning:  
> \- asphyxiation.
> 
> pitiful bed, pitiful fireplace. ♡ [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/azianotaiza), [carrd](https://azianotaiza.carrd.co/).

It was because the stars were shining so brightly that night. That’s why you suggested it would be nice to go out. Belphie had expectedly immediately groaned his complaints. And expectedly said that there was a perfectly fine planetarium at both of your disposals – and _it’s not that far away. Why do we have to go outside? That’s too much work._ And when you had said something along the lines of: sure, you two could go up in the planetarium where you had a high chance of being bothered, or you two could be _completely alone together_ outside – he was all in. As expected.

You had originally planned to pull together some sort of pseudo-campsite or another, but he had led you to an actual campsite – by a lake with cabins and everything. Perhaps most of his brothers would’ve launched into some sort of long-winded explanation behind the campsite, its history, and why they had brought you all the way out there in the first place. But Belphie wasn’t the type. After you two snuck out, you both had hid in the shadows of the streets, hand in hand, talking about everything yet nothing at the same time – and that was that.

You two now laid in the grass together, facing up at the stars. The constellations were different where you were (as you have so been reminded), so you followed Belphie’s scattered murmurs here and there, explaining what was what. Where his star was.

“Hey,” you whispered to him while he was mid-explanation, mid-point of the finger. You kept your voice low as to not disturb the peace in between you both, disturb the lake beside you both, or disturb the stars above you both. “Is it just me, or are you getting déjà vu right now too?”

He scrunched his nose up for a second – meaning that he was actually giving your question some weight, maybe even ruminating over it – before allowing his arm to fall back to his side. He always looked cute when he did that. (He insisted he didn’t whenever you tried to tease him about it, but a slight flush would always mark his cheeks, meaning he was well aware.)

He settled on a shrug. “I dunno.” But there was something in his tone that left more to be desired in your ears.

“No, seriously.” You made sure your insistence was as soft as could be. You could hear a sigh leave him. Probably from his nose. You knew that he was just putting on the dramatics, though. There was a very different distinct sigh that he gave whenever he actually felt exasperated with you or with anyone else. “It feels like we’ve done this before, yeah?”

He finally decided on a, “Yeah,” and you were satisfied with that. You squeezed his hand to let him know. “Hey, don’t look at me like that.” He used his free hand to poke and prod at the corners of your lips. “It’s not that big a deal.” You hadn’t even realized that you were just openly smiling at him.

You quickly said, “Sorry,” and downturned your lips from a grin to a simple, content smile. You took it as an opportunity to test the waters. “What, am I not allowed to smile?”

He shook his head. “No. Not unless I give you a good reason.”

“But you _did_ give me a reason.”

“Not a _good_ reason.” He shrugged again. “We could’ve done this before and we both just forgot or something.” You were quick to shake your head before you even realized it. “What?” He sighed. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.” At least you could consciously feel your smile widening now. “I’m just happy to spend time with you.” He snorted, but you knew it was a sound of appreciation.

“Come here.” You shuffled closer to him, as told. “Right here.” He tapped his finger against his lips. In his mind, he held one end of the bargain by initiating a kiss and you held your end by completing the act. It was one thing you always internally rolled your eyes at, but still found endearing about him.

“Ugh, you’re so lazy,” you muttered as you moved closer to him anyway. You could feel his lips slightly waver with a held back laugh as you pressed your lips against his. “Hm, wait.” You kissed him again before he could pull away. “Were you drinking?” He smirked.

“You can taste it?”

“Mhm.”

“How about you kiss me again and try to guess what—”

“Red Demonus.” He blinked a couple times. You couldn’t help but let out a slight laugh at his surprised face. “I guess I was right, then?” He nodded, like it killed him to do it. You actually laughed then. “Why? Did I interrupt something?”

“Hm…” His eyes flickered downward. You waited. You would always give him all the time in the world. “I just wanted to have a drink before bed, because…” You nodded. Still waited. He let out a breath. It sounded like something that had been caged in the depths of his chest, that he was reluctant and possibly already regretted releasing. “Because when I drink enough to feel warm all over, or whatever, it feels good.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Feels like you’re holding me,” he said in a small voice. An admission.

“Oh. Well,” you wrapped your arms around him, “I’m here now, right?” You could feel him nod against your chest.

“Yeah. You are.”

†

You had internally debated between whether to sleep outside amongst the stars or inside of one of the cabins, but Belphie solved your dilemma for you by already falling asleep nuzzled against your side outside. His soft snores filled your ear and his presence slightly warmed your side. (Actually maybe the vice versa would be more correct, since he was always so cold.) All was well. For now.

A sudden cool breeze brushed over you. Your entire body was racked in shivers. The wind was howling. Ah, no. Not just the wind. Something from the distance.

You waited. You could feel yourself holding on to your next breath.

There was a shuffling in the forest surrounding the campsite clearing. You couldn’t exactly detect what direction it was coming from. The wind was really starting to pick up.

You turned down to Belphie, who was still attached to your side, still blissfully unaware. You leaned down toward his ear. He liked to be woken up by you in a particular way. “Belphie,” you whispered, directly into his ear. “Belphie, wake up.” His nose scrunched up on reflex. Almost there. “Belphie, wake up,” you repeated. Your lips were brushing against his ear.

He stirred slightly and dug his chin into your shoulder in the process. “What…?” He mumbled out.

“I think there’s something in the woods,” you whispered. Belphie slowly opened one bleary eye. Fortunately, another rustling sound emerged from the forest, confirming your suspicions to him. “Maybe we should sleep inside one of the cabins?” He squeezed his eyes shut at your suggestion, but he sucked in a breath and began to stretch out his limbs before you tried to call his name again.

“Can you carry me there?” You chuckled slightly. His voice was still seeped in sleep, but at least he was going into the motions of getting up.

“I wish I could. We can snuggle when we get to the cabin, how about that?” He groaned again as he finally shuffled to his feet, but you knew there was a ninety-nine percent chance of cuddling in the near future. You wrapped the blanket you both were laying on around his shoulders as you followed him to the nearest cabin.

The inside of the cabin wasn’t anything too spectacular. Just a pitiful bed next to an even more pitiful fireplace. Oh well, at least you both were inside.

Before you could even take another step inside of the cabin, you were being pulled down. You couldn’t help the yelp that you let out as you landed on top of Belphie and, in turn, on top of the bed. You were then wrapped up in an entanglement of his arms and the blanket.

It took a moment to unwind the pretzel that Belphie had created between your bodies and the blanket, but you rearranged yourself until you were in a much more comfortable position: facing each other with your arms wrapped around him – just the way he liked it. You could feel his body sigh into your embrace. He tucked his face into your shoulder again, and it was as if you two hadn’t moved from your previous position outside by the lake at all.

You stroked your fingers through his hair, starting with his scalp and working your way down to his neck. It would have been easy to make the false assumption that he was already falling asleep if your ears weren’t tuned in on him. His breathing changed when he was asleep, and it had a certain pattern when he was pretending to be asleep, too. “I thought you’d go straight to sleep.” The wind was strengthening. You could hear the lone window in the cabin shake. “Are you okay? Do you have something on your mind, Belphie?”

You could feel his lips twitch against your neck. “You’re annoying.”

“H-Huh?”

“You always know.” You felt one of his fingers tap against your forehead. “Are you telepathic or something? Can you read my mind?” You shrugged. “What am I thinking about right now, then?”

“Um, let me think…” You pulled back to lock eyes with him. You could barely make out his eyebrow raising through the fringe of his hair, through the darkness. “I got it. Your next thought is going to be: ‘Ow! What did you do that for?’”

“Huh—?” You flicked him in the center of his forehead. “Ow! What’d you do—? Alright, that’s it.” The blanket fluttered around for a moment until you found yourself in Belphie’s previous position: his arms were wrapped around you and you were pressed up against him. _Tightly_.

You managed to pull back slightly and looked at him. He looked back. He blinked too. “So… What’s on your mind?”

Without missing a beat: “You don’t deserve to know.”

“Please?” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Pleeease, Belphie?”

“Ugh, you’re so annoying.” You could feel his shoulders beginning to slouch, though. He was loosening up. “It’s… not important.”

“To me it is.” You were expecting a good back and forth of his typical little snarky comments and you breaking him down until he finally caved, but instead his face fell. He broke off eye contact with you and looked off to the side, off into space. You could feel him loosen his hold on you. You felt your heart stop. “Belphie, what’s wrong?”

“I’ve just… I was thinking about a lot of things today…”

“…Yeah?” You prompted, breathless.

“Just…” He let out a slow breath, before he finally let it out: “I thought you hated me.”

Your reaction was simultaneously immediate yet slow. Your surprise was instantaneous. “W-What?” And the feeling of your chest seizing into itself was measured and creeping. “…You’ve never said that to me before.” Your voice had dropped down to below a whisper. If you two weren’t so close together, then surely the wind would have easily drowned your voice out.

“Are you…?”

“S-Sorry.” You reached up in between your bodies, up to your face. A few tears had managed to escape your eyes. “I thought _you_ hated _me_.” His eyes averted from yours again. He was usually _too_ blunt, _too_ straightforward. Why was he acting like this all of a sudden? Maybe because he figured it was best not to waste his time explaining the obvious. What was left unspoken between you two was something well known, something that would forever fester in the back of your minds.

You couldn’t fathom _how_ you could even conjure up some sort of answer for him. Nothing suitable could come forward in your mind. You couldn’t even attempt to come up with anything. “I don’t know,” was what you finally said once the silence stretched between you two for surely too long. “Maybe… Maybe something’s wrong with me. I don’t know.”

“Nothing’s wrong with you.” He pulled you back toward his body again. “Other than the fact that you’re annoying sometimes. But that’s just human nature.” You laughed a little. You could feel his hand begin to stroke up and down your back.

But was it not the truth? Something _had_ to be wrong with you to willingly give yourself to Belphegor like this. It was like falling in love with Judas, provocatively speaking. _What was wrong with you?_ You could already feel new tears beginning to sting your eyes.

“I’m always making you cry.”

“N-No, don’t say that. That’s not tr—”

“Not true? Don’t lie. You know it is.” Objectively speaking, yes – but that was because he always saw this side of you. You definitely cried in front of him the most. He didn’t deserve that. You felt his chest slowly inflate and expand with air, until his form suddenly turned rigid. “I can never make it up to you. What I did.” You chose to hold your tongue. You could barely grasp for your next breath. “I don’t get it. Why do we keep—?” Cold fear ruptured your system.

“No!” You gasped out. You clutched at his shirtfront. All of it was instinctual. You were better than this. Better than letting your emotions take over you like this, but— “Sorry.” You let go of him. “Sorry,” you repeated.

He only sighed. “Stop apologizing.” Him saying that made you bite back another apology. Your apologetics, your defenses, never seemed to surmount him. He was truly the unmovable object to your unstoppable force. (If your force wasn’t running on blind emptiness, that is. If his object wasn’t built upon an inconceivable foundation, that is.) “‘Sorry’ just means less and less the more you say it.” You knew he didn’t mean “you” specifically, but a universal “you.” You nodded. Actions spoke louder than words. You were well aware. (But did that make your ideology hypocritical, following down that path of logic? Who knew. Your eyes were too blurry and your heart was too weepy to make heads or tails of much of anything.)

You slid your hands up his chest again. Not to grab in hysterics, but to simply touch. You couldn’t say sorry. You couldn’t muster up a reasonable explanation. The truth was probably something inexplainable and asinine anyway. Probably something beyond you.

At least he was looking at you in the eyes again.

You lifted one of your hands from his chest and trailed it up toward his chin, until your thumb prodded at his lips. You then tapped your fingers against your own lips. He obliged you. He gave you the kiss you asked for.

Expressions of affection and sentimentality were not solutions. Communication and integrity were. But what was there to do when every conversation felt like a dead end, when all roads seemed to lead to the same place? What was there to do when you both didn’t want to give up on each other, but there didn’t seem to be a way to escape the inevitable loop you were both caught in?

You deepened the kiss. Maybe it was unwarranted desperation. Maybe it was the same on his end. He reciprocated. You felt his hands clutch at your sides, pulling you impossibly closer to him. In the next second, he was already prodding his tongue against your lips. Ah, there was his bluntness and straightforwardness that you missed. You opened your lips for him.

One of his hands ventured down toward your lower back and his fingers tightened. He was always digging his fingertips into you when you two were like this. Was it subconscious? Were you forever destined to have him sinking his claws into you, whether or not it was intentional? Still, you felt yourself automatically curl into his touch.

With a gasp, you broke off your kiss. He was probably fine to go on and on, but your human lungs had limitations. Without a hitch, he easily picked up where you left off, pressing his lips against your chin, trailing down to your neck. “I thought you were tired,” you breathed out. He made some sort of sound in the back of his throat. You licked your lips. “A-Ah, I can still taste it.”

He unlatched himself from the crook of your neck. “Taste what?”

“The Demonus. I can still taste it.” He hummed before he moved up to your lips again. “It tastes good.”

“I thought it didn’t do anything for you.”

“It still tastes good.” He snaked his hands underneath your shirt. You could feel his fingers brush against the bare skin of your back. You could already feel yourself melting. You pulled away again, but kept your lips against his skin. “I don’t hate you,” you breathed out. Desperation was truly a disease on the mind. “I can’t. I just can’t.” You could feel his fingers dig deeper into your skin.

“Why can’t you? It makes sense. It makes more sense to hate me.”

“I-It might but—I just can’t.” _I wish I could tell you why_ , was on the tip of your tongue. _I wish I knew why_. Your answer would never suffice. And you both always swept everything under the rug for another hypothetical day. A day that may never come.

As your tongues returned to sliding against each other, you could feel him hardening against your leg. You slid one of your hands down his body. “Can I?” You panted out. He nodded. His hands hiked your shirt up even higher as his fingers danced across your upper back. You don’t know why you didn’t realize he would like something so simple, just laying back and taking whatever he wanted you to give him. Well, he _was_ a pillow prince for a reason.

You slipped your fingers underneath the waistband of his pants and clasped your fingers around his length. You could feel him bite down on his bottom lip against your open mouth. It was his automatic response to anything, to stay quiet. Probably a quirk from having to share a room. You squeezed your hand around him. He bit down a hiss before it could fully leave his lips.

Then, there was a banging against the window. The wind had gotten even louder. Your heart palpitated.

You immediately ceased your ministrations. Belphie’s hands tightened against you again, except this time it was definitely a conscious decision. Something protective instead of possessive. He leaned over your shoulder, keeping his eyes on the door. “Did you say you thought there was something in the woods?” He was speaking directly into your ear. Whoever, _whatever_ , was possibly outside had no chance of listening in. You nodded against him. “Don’t move.” You nodded again.

He got up and inched his way to the window, making sure that he was just out of view. You could practically see the hairs stand up on the back of his neck once he peeped outside. “What do you see?” You whisper-yelled. When he turned back to you, his eye visible through his hair was widened in sheer shock. “B-Belphie?”

“I see me.”

“ _What_?”

“ _Me_. I see… _me_.” He did a doubletake at the window. He didn’t look any less shocked when he turned back to you. “It’s me in my true demon form.” You could feel your heart rattle against your ribcage with each step he took closer to return to you.

“H-How is that possible? W-What should we do?” Judging from the hard look on his face, he had no clue.

“Maybe someone is trying to pull one over on us. All I can guess is it’s some type of transfiguration spell to look like me. Let’s just stay in here for now an—” The window burst open. The deafening howl of the wind completely filled your ears and drained out any other sound. Then, a sudden darkness cloaked your vision – and everything went silent in an instant.

Belphie’s “true demon form” (you could still faintly recall your initial surprise upon learning that the brothers had yet _another_ demon form; one that was completely demonic, one that absolutely rejected any façade of humanity) was certainly something special. It wasn’t a creature that took a particular shape. It was more so abstract. It was somehow tangible yet intangible at the same time. A nearly incomprehensible presence. It wasn’t to be seen, but to be felt. It wasn’t to be spotted, but to be heard coming. Only Belphie could catch something like it, as paradoxical as it seemed.

You could only describe his true form as a sort of fog or a gloomy darkness, if you had to put it into words. It made you understand why he was nicknamed the “Lord of Emptiness.” He managed to embody the physical manifestation of emptiness.

In a blink of the eye, you were forced around so that you were pinned down on your stomach. You could feel the bed and not feel it at the same time. But you could certainly feel it – like a hand, but not at the same time – against you. _“Found you.”_ It was a whisper that echoed in your mind. There was an absent presence against your neck. (It was always the neck with him.)

You wanted to speak, you really did, but the grasp on your neck double downed before you could even open your mouth. You couldn’t stop the panicked gasp that pushed through your closing-in throat. You could feel your hands absentmindedly, futilely, make a grab at nothing – _literal nothingness_ – and something slightly tangible, the bedsheets most likely.

The last thing you heard was, _“Come back,”_ ring in the recesses of your quickly blanking mind, before you were crushed and squeezed and compressed into oblivion.

†

Belphie’s voice. Your name. He was calling your name.

You felt your eyes tighten in on themselves when you tried to sit up. You raised your hands up to your neck. Your throat was killing you, like you were on the worse end of a horrible cold. “B-Belphie?” Your voice came out in a near croak. “What happened…?”

He let out a long exhale above you. Belphie reached down and carefully helped you up to your feet, and kept one steady hand on your back as you stood. “You fell. And then you passed out for a second. I knew humans were fragile, but…” He shook his head, like he couldn’t find a suitable ending to his sentence. Maybe he was holding back his typical bite for you for now.

You put a hand up to your head. Your head felt fine. It was just your throat that hurt. You tried to clear your throat, but it was no help. Did you pass out with your mouth wide open, causing for your throat to dry out or something? You seriously felt like you had been strangled. “Why are we outside? Were we going somewhere?” He shook his head again. Not in denial, but in disbelief.

“ _You_ said we should go outside to stargaze. This is why we should’ve just stayed in the planetarium.” He grabbed your hand. “Let’s go back home. It would be annoying if you slipped and fell and died on my watch. I would never hear the end of it.” You nodded. It was probably best that you rested your voice. Silently, hand in hand, you two walked back to the House of Lamentation.

The streets were completely immersed in a white fog. You felt an automatic shiver travel down your spine. There was nothing that screamed horror movie more than an endless foggy street that was only lit by streetlamps. (Well, the Devildom in general screamed horror movie, really.)

“Are you cold?” He asked. You shrugged. He squeezed your hands in between the both of his. It was a sweet gesture, but a fruitless endeavor, because his hands were always cold. In fact, you could feel his own hands shivering. Still, your heart couldn’t help but swoon at his efforts. You coupled both of your entwined hands together, brought them up to your mouth, and blew out warm air on them.

When you turned back to him, there was a unmistakable pinkness dusting his cheeks. You couldn’t help but smile at him (as much as the pain in your throat would allow). “We probably look like a couple of idiots right now with our hands like this.” You had to nod in agreement. You both probably did. You pressed a kiss against his knuckles before you returned to holding just one of his hands.

There was a whisper sounding off in your ears. _“Come back.”_ It resonated. The words were stuffed with so much raw melancholia. _“Come back. Come back.”_ Emptiness was nipping at the heels of your feet. You only tightened your grip on Belphie’s hand when you involuntarily shivered again.

When you both finally opened the doors to the House of Lamentation, a field of flowers greeted you both instead of the foyer. A sea of poppies. Poppies represented eternal sleep, oblivion, the imagination. Red poppies symbolized pleasure, sacrifice, and death. White poppies symbolized consolation, peace, and dreams. What greeted you this evening? Red.

 _“Come back.”_ Unbeknownst to you, you were already caught in the trance. You sucked in one final breath of the hazy night air before you stepped inside.

( _The Wizard of Oz_. You remembered introducing it to the brothers during one movie night because you were absolutely flabbergasted that they had never watched it, or even heard of it. ((Well, Satan had. But that’s a given. He seemed to know everything.)) Upon Belphie becoming formally a part of your life, you had watched it alone with him. The other brothers weren’t as impressed by the film – they had been questioning its status as a classic the entire time – but Belphie had seemed well invested. Perhaps maybe even a little _too_ invested. Maybe it was because it had been the first time you willingly spent time with him alone.

Anyways, the point of it all was there was a particular scene in _The Wizard of Oz_. In the book, the chapter was called “The Deadly Poppy Field.” In the chapter, Dorothy and her companions had come across a field of poppies. It was a peculiar field of poppies that once any living being tried to cross through them, they would fall into a deep, eternal slumber – one in which they could never wake up from unless they managed to escape the field.)

The sound of a yawn broke you out of your stupor. Belphie’s hold on your hand was weakening. “What’s…?” He yawned again. “What’re all these flowers… doing… here…?” He was already sinking toward the ground. You allowed for his fingers to slip from yours, and when his body curled up amongst the flowers and he was peacefully swallowed in endless redness, you carried on.

 _“Come back.”_ Something was calling you at the top of the stairs. It was so sweet, so familiar. You had to follow it. Even if you were on your last breath, your legs followed.

Halfway up the stairs, you couldn’t hold your breath anymore. _“Come back.”_ You allowed yourself a few short, shallow, bated breaths through your nose as you continued your journey. What originally would’ve taken less than a minute turned into a complete trek.

You were on your knees by the time you reached the top of the stairs. _“Come back.”_ Still, you tried your best to turn your face away from the flowers, tried your best to go on.

 _“Come back.”_ When your eyes felt like there were one-ton weights attached to them, when your mind was as foggy as the weather outside, when you were just barely dragging your body along with your tiring hands and knees – you did it. _You did it_. You made it to the staircase to the attic.

When you finally pulled your exhausted body to the first step, a field of stars greeted you instead of the stairwell. And what was one thing that everyone knew about space? There was no oxygen.

So how did you solve a dilemma of choosing between no air or cursed air? You took a third option.

With the last remnant of your barely remaining breath, you called out to him in your tiny, rasped voice: “ _Belphie_.” And instantly, he was there.

 _“Found you.”_ You felt him sink in all around you. Some of the stars tinted black, and you couldn’t tell if it was because of him or the gathering spots in your vision.

His presence. It was all-encompassing, all-consuming. You could feel him _everywhere_. Almost felt like he was holding you, if it wasn’t so overwhelming. So overstimulating. He spread through every imaginable part of you: underneath your clothes, covering your stomach, your back, your chest; then your eyes, your nose, your mouth.

There had been a silent “help” in your voice when you had managed to call out to him, and somehow he had received your message. Whatever he had filled your nose and mouth down to your lungs with simply halted your breath and stilled your body. It didn’t magically create any air like some type of miracle. (Perhaps it was him himself. Perhaps it was his very essence that was completely filling you up. Maybe this was what had been calling out to you all along, what your feet couldn’t help but follow no matter the circumstance.)

Is this what people called the edge of glory? Is this what people called walking a fine line? Your lungs had nothing left to give, but he was still simultaneously both refilling you with his essence and squeezing out everything you had left. You guessed you maybe had seven seconds, ten seconds left in you. You took it as an opportunity to show him your gratitude – as best as you could nonverbally and without an oxygen-enriched brain, that is.

But how do you praise emptiness? How do you praise someone who seemed to always take your wrong words to heart and labeled your right words as meaningless? Was there really a way?

The only way you knew was by tilting your head to expose the rest of your neck to him and spreading your legs. You fell into him, into his emptiness. You could only feel a few seconds of it, on the tipping point of your consciousness, but the feeling was like no other. It was on the cusp of delirium. You fell further when you could feel him fully moving inside you. You welcomed your mind to immerse into the floating world when you could feel him push the swell of your jugular in. If you could, you would be singing rhapsodies to his touch right then and there as you felt him glide inside you, against you, outside you, everywhere and anywhere.

But a few glorious seconds were never enough. The more your elation increased, the more your consciousness decreased. You tried to savor the feeling of him dominating you, tried to squeeze around him and match the slow rhythm that he was beginning to develop, but you couldn’t move a muscle no matter how much you wanted to. So you just focused on the feeling – the feeling of oversaturation, total submergence – before your eyes rolled up to the back of your head, and you were gone.

†

Waking up was always hard to do with Belphie. You had originally thought that sleeping underneath his influence would cause for sweet dreams and feeling nothing but well-rested after waking up, but no. Sometimes your mind would attempt to wake up and your body wouldn’t, leaving you paralyzed in a half-sleep state. It was tempting to just fall back into sleep, but you shouldn’t. You couldn’t. You fought against it. It was like fighting against the crushing pressure of the ocean, fighting against nature itself. But still, you clawed your way up to the surface, to the safety net of consciousness that seemed so far away.

It was truly a battle to force your eyes to stay open. It was nearly pitch black in the attic and your eyes seemed to refuse to readjust to the darkness. As quietly as possible, as to not disturb him, you stretched out your body – and you felt _it_. Him inside you. He liked going to sleep like this. You did too. It was always the sweet reunion you looked forward to when waking up.

You turned up to Belphie, who was attached to your side, in his tangible human form that you were used to. You leaned up toward his ear. He liked to be woken up by you in a particular way. “Belphie,” you whispered, directly into his ear. “Belphie, wake up.” You could feel his nose slowly scrunch up on reflex. Almost there. “Belphie, wake up,” you repeated. Your lips were brushing against his ear.

One of his hands tightened around your waist, the other around the back of your neck. (It was always the neck with him.) His movements were unthinking, automatic. You could feel him twitch inside you. It was only natural when your body melted into his.

His eyes slowly opened. Through the darkness, you imagined that his eyes were probably slit in the way they always did when he woke up. When you could only see the blackness of his pupils and the ring of deep lavender of his irises.

He murmured your name before he curled you closer to his body. “I had that dream again,” you started. You heard him make a sound in the back of his throat. He was half-asleep but still listening. “I always have that dream.” Your voice was so small. You wondered if he could even hear it. “Every night,” you continued. You pushed your hands up his bare chest, to his face. “Belphie,” you whispered, you stroked your thumbs across his cheekbones. He wasn’t particular to begging, so you kept your voice as even as possible. “Do you remember? Didn’t you hate it, being locked up?”

You felt his body freeze beneath your hands. Like a ramrod had been jammed down his spine.

“Didn’t you hate being locked away?” You brushed your fingers against his lips. “I hate it, too. Belphie. I hate being locked away like this.” You pressed your thumbs near the contours of his lips. “ _Please_.”

“Why?” His words struck you down like cool lightning. You could feel his cock shift inside you, and you clenched your hips down in response. “What’s wrong with just staying here with me? Why do you want to leave so badly?”

“Because I’m _locked away_ here, Belphie. Do you remember…?” You gulped. Here goes. “Do you remember when Lucifer locked you away? Do you remember how angry you were, how lonely you felt? D-Do you remember what you did when I broke you out?” His fingers were digging into your neck. _He remembered_. “And… You killed me.” You couldn’t even attempt to hold back your tears.

“I—”

“ _You killed me_.” There was no other way around it, no way to soften the blow. “Belphie, _please_.” Your tone wasn’t begging. It was appealing. You hoped it was enough.

“…If you left,” his voice dropped, “where would you go?” You openly smiled at him through your tears. You wondered if he could see you.

“I would go see Beel. Can you still feel him? Can you still feel what Beel is feeling?” He remained silent. “Do you want me to tell him something when I see him?” His voice was so low, so quiet, but you managed to catch his message. “Thank you.” You pressed your lips against his then. Again and again. “Thank you.”

“…You’ll come back, right?”

“I’ll come back.” It wasn’t an empty promise at all. “It always comes back to you.” He was unmoving for a daunting moment, before you felt him sigh against your skin. He finally took your right words at face value. “Thank you, Belphie,” you repeated. You gave him one last kiss before you moved. You let it linger. You let it taste like gratitude. You untangled yourself from his arms and moved to detach yourself from him. An embarrassingly loud wet sound shot into the air when you finally released him from your body, and you could feel his cum drip from inside you and even begin to trail down your thighs.

You heard him make a sad sound when you hauled your lethargic body off the bed. You reached back to stroke his cheek before you balanced your trembling legs on the floor.

Empty. That’s oddly always how you felt whenever you left whatever bed you two were sharing for the night, and when you went to grope for your clothes on the floor through the darkness. You stepped into the emptiness, his emptiness – your coinhabiting emptiness that you two pooled together and shared through your joint eternal slumber – and found it: a light. The exit from the attic.

Still: _“Come back. I’ve been lonely for so long. Don’t leave me. I don’t want to be alone again. Please.”_ It still echoed in your mind as you finally left. The brain is a prison. Forever inescapable, even after death. _“Come back. Please.”_

†

You woke up to the sound of fanfare. You nearly jolted out of your seat before you remembered where you were. You were the only one still sitting on the bleachers. Everyone else around you was either jumping up and down in their seats or running out in a mad frenzy onto the field.

“Were you sleeping?” You shot your head up. Beelzebub. He was smiling, clutching his helmet to his side. He didn’t look or sound mad at all. Typical of him.

“Y-You noticed?” He nodded. Of course he would notice something like that in the middle of a game. A game for the Devildom Bowl, nonetheless. “S-Sorry. I was up all night making a surprise for you—because I knew you would win!” You could imagine that his eyebrows probably shot up through his sweat-matted hair at the word “surprise.” The widest smile took over his face.

When you sprung up from your seat, you threw your arms around his shoulders. He was quick to toss his helmet down and catch you in his warm embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspirations:   
>  \- _jacob's ladder_ (1990 film) - jacob's ladder (bible, genesis 28:10-19) - _the interpretation of dreams_ (sigmund freud) - _a nightmare on elm street_ \- _friday the 13th_ \- _the wizard of oz_ \- _the dark pictures anthology: little hope_ \- _sleeping beauty_ \- _miserere_ ( _yume nikki_ fangame) - _meshes of the afternoon_ \- _what remains of edith finch_ \- "a dream within a dream" (edgar allan poe) - "judas" (lady gaga)


	2. Le Petit Chef

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Maybe there is a beast. Maybe it’s only us.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings:  
> \- binge eating.  
> \- cannibalism.
> 
> disrespected crème brûlée. ♡ [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/azianotaiza), [carrd](https://azianotaiza.carrd.co/).

“I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay,” you reassured him again. You squeezed your arms around his shoulders. “I’m fine! I could’ve walked, honestly.” When you and Beel were wrapped up in your hug after the game, his team had mobbed him – causing for him to accidentally drop you. And when you had said that you rolled your ankle a bit on the fall, the guilt hadn’t left him since. He had immediately scooped you up in his arms and you had been hanging from his back for the entire walk home.

Beel made a murmuring noise in discontent. You could feel the sound rumble through your body against where your stomach was pressed against his back. You tightened your arms around him and pressed your face into the crook of his neck. “It’s okay, Beel, really,” you repeated. “Don’t feel bad, please. It wasn’t your fault. And it doesn’t hurt anymore, I promise.” He made another sad noise. _Maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say…_ ”It didn’t even hurt that badly in the first place. Honest!” You didn’t have to see his frown with your eyes to know that it was there. You could _sense_ it at this point. “Beel.” You were carrying his helmet. You tapped it against his chest. “You can’t feel bad about things that are out of your control, you know?”

“Yeah…” You could feel his shoulders slouch slightly beneath your arms. Even though the current situation was something minor, your words rang truer than ever: he shouldn’t feel bad about things that are out of his control. You could recall one too many sleepless nights of him clutching at your hands, trying to wave off the aftershocks of yet another lingering nightmare of the past he couldn’t change.

Some situations – such as with Lilith and Belphie – were helpless and completely out of his hands, yet he still internalized them as his own. But his internal predicament felt like it was out of your hands also. After eons of self-blame and agonizing remorse, was it even possible to reverse his way of thinking? _How helpless…_ You leaned down and pressed a kiss against his cheek on that thought. He leaned into your touch in response.

Beel moved one of his arms downward to fully secure it behind you as he moved his other arm to open the door. Once you were both in the foyer, you shimmied down off of his back. When you two were finally properly eye to eye again, you could see that he was still wearing the same hangdog look on his face from when you had fell. Without hesitation, you wrapped him up in the tightest hug you could (minding his surely postgame sore spots, of course), and practically smothered yourself in his wide chest in the process.

When you felt his arms wrap back around you (also without hesitation), you leaned your head back so that you were looking up at him with your chin pressed against his chest. “You should be happy right now, you know. You just won the Devildom Bowl.” He nodded, and his expression softened. You could live with that.

“What’s my surprise?”

“Oh. I thought you forgot about that.” He shook his head. He smiled then. “After you shower, come to the dining room, okay?” He nodded, but he didn’t move. A sudden thought popped in your head. “Oh, and can you wash your jersey? I want to wear it to bed tonight, if that’s okay with you.” As expected, a faint blush began to develop on his cheeks.

“That’s fine.” You smiled.

“Thank you. Now,” you released your hold on him, “go shower. I’ll be in the dining room.” He still didn’t let go of you. “Hm?” The redness in his cheeks deepened. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you…?” He cleared his throat. “Do you want to shower with me?”

“Hmm, I don’t know…” You thought it over. _Pros and cons, pros and cons._ Honestly, there were way more pros than cons, but— “What about your surprise? I don’t want it to get cold…”

“Did you cook me something?” His stomach rumbled right on cue, as always. “I can just eat it now.” He was already licking his chops in anticipation. If he was a dog, his tail would be wagging at hyper speed by now.

“Beel. You’re drooling.” He wiped his mouth into his elbow, but he still had that faraway look in his eyes he always had once he was swept away in a food fantasy. “Well, I didn’t just cook you _something_ , I cooked you _a lot_. So you’re going to want to shower first. Trust me.” His stomach rumbled again. Louder. His dreamy smile quickly drew down into a grumpy frown. “I put some snacks in your bedroom for you before you shower. And if you tell me when you’re done showering, I’ll bring you some more snacks afterward. Does that sound good?”

He nodded. “Thank you.” It was the way that his voice oozed with genuine appreciation that made you wrap your arms around him again – but a sudden hiss of pain halted your motions. You immediately pulled back and looked over him.

“Where does it hurt?” You have been to many of his previous games, but you never failed to wince at how rough the players played. You had already heard enough horror stories that football caused on the body and the mind, and Fangol – the Devildom equivalent – was no exception. In fact, it was worse. You understood that demons could certainly take more of a beating than humans could, but still. It pained you to see Beel in pain, regardless.

“My neck,” he murmured. Why did he sound so sheepish about it?

“Do you want me to run you a bath? Do you want a hot bath or an ice bath?” His frown deepened as he thought it over.

“I want a massage.” _Huh?_

“Is it okay to get a massage right after a game?”

“I dunno. Probably.”

“How about…” For some reason, your mind was doing mental gymnastics. You liked your simple plan of showering and eating a lot better. “How about you eat the snacks I left in your room, I make you an ice bath, then you can eat another snack in the bath, and then I give you a massage, and then you get your surprise? I’ll try my best to keep it warm in the meantime.” He nodded again, and then his eyebrows knitted together.

“Can I get a snack while I get a massage, too?” Beelzebub. Always had his priorities straight.

“Will you have any room for dinner?” A smile bit at the corners of your lips. You already knew the answer.

He curtly nodded, completely serious. “Of course. Do you know who you’re talking to?”

“Yeah, I know who I’m talking to.” You reached up on your tiptoes and pressed a quick peck against his lips. He then released you and headed off to the direction of his room.

Maybe it was the still unmoving slouch in his shoulders, or the lingering sense of personal defeat in his broad posture, or the loitering sense of guilt that blanketed his aura. Or maybe it was how you were totally whipped for him. Maybe it was all of the above.

“Beel,” you called out. He stopped and looked back at you. “I love you.” The way that he shamelessly grinned, and how his smile just genuinely _beamed_ – made everything worth it.

“Love you, too.”

†

Beel was sitting crisscrossed on his bed, munching on the second party-sized bag of chips that you had left for him. He was readily shirtless and had a towel slung over his head. He looked so relaxed. Not at all like he had just spent hours playing a strenuous sport and leading his team to victory.

He finally noticed you were standing in the doorway when he held the bag above his head to tunnel in any remaining crumbs directly into his mouth. You two locked eyes in his peripheral vision. “Hi,” he said around a mouthful of chips.

“Hi.” You then fully entered his room and closed the door behind you. “I found a bunch of oils in Asmo’s room. I’m not sure which one to use… Oh, and I got you some more chips.” You tossed another party-sized bag of chips his way. He caught the bag in one hand and tore them open effortlessly.

“Thank you.” You walked up to him. Upon closer inspection, you could see that his hair was still wet. Water was dripping down to his bare shoulders and trailing down the sculpted ridges of his chest. You internally shook your head to yourself.

“You didn’t dry your hair?” He shook his head and said something, which caused for chip crumbs to fly everywhere. Spending so much time with him has helped you learn a new language that was exclusive to him: Beel’s “My Mouth Is Full, But That Won’t Stop Me from Trying to Hold a Conversation” Language. It seemed like his hairdryer wasn’t working or something. You sighed as you went to try and dry off his hair to the best of your ability with the towel over his head.

You heard him give a much too-audible swallow. “What’s wrong?”

“Hm?” You shuffled through your pillaged oils. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“You look sad.”

“I do?” You looked up at him. There was a slight pout on his face as he nodded. “I don’t… feel sad. I’m sorry if I worried you. I was just wondering how I’m supposed to give you a massage. I don’t think I’m that good at them, but I feel like you always ask me for one…”

“Because I do. I like it when you give me massages.”

“Really? Why?”

“Because it’s you.” He shrugged, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Maybe it was. Maybe you needed to stop overthinking things. A lesson you subconsciously learned from Beel was to enjoy the simple things in life and to just accept some things as is.

So, you tried to. You both shifted so that he was lying face down on the bed (on top of another towel you managed to scour from around the room) and you were in a semi-straddle position across his legs. You warmed your palms up in an oil that he hadn’t wrinkled his nose at, and got to work.

You smoothed your hands across his back to spread out the oil, before you began to move your hands in (hopefully) soothing, circular motions across his upper back. “Is this okay?” You asked. He nodded. And judging from the soft, relieved exhale that exited his nose, maybe you weren’t as bad at massages as you thought.

You could feel your body really begin to heat up once you reached the middle of his back. Beel was the opposite of Belphie in the sense that while Belphie was always cold, Beel was always warm. He was like a personal furnace. You made quick work to knead your way down his lower back before you could fully catch on fire (and the little sounds he was making under his breath weren’t helping).

He felt like putty in your hands when you were finished. You took a moment to sit back and survey your work. It wasn’t an exaggeration to describe his body as an endless landscape. You knew you would never master the topography of his anatomy, and that was fine with you. You were willing to get lost in his terrain forever.

Speaking of being lost, your hands were absentmindedly roaming across his back, not exactly massaging anymore but simply feeling, touching. You leaned down toward his ear. “All done,” you murmured, careful not to disturb the relaxed daze he was surely under. You could _feel_ the shiver course through his body when you spoke. The tingle that went down your own spine was only responsive. “Do you want me to get your neck, too?” You asked. He nodded and sat up. You two rearranged yourselves so that he was sitting on the floor in between your legs as you got to work on his neck.

You don’t know why you didn’t expect to easily fall into a pattern of domesticity when it came to Beel. He was as family oriented as it got, and was easily the sweetest out of the brothers. Melting into him was something of a natural process. He polished off the bag of chips. You made sure to keep your touch delicate and to lighten your touch whenever he quietly hitched his breath.

The air felt still once you finished. “Feel better?” You asked, voice low.

He nodded. “I do. Thank you.”

“No problem.” You leaned down with the intention of pressing a kiss against his cheek, but he turned his head at the same exact moment – and you two locked lips. Once again, no problem. It was the closest you were going to get to him kissing you first, anyway.

You weren’t sure why he never initiated kisses with you. You had racked your brain about it too many times in the past. Was he too shy? Did he not want to overstep his boundaries? Or was it yet another thing he was indifferent about? He had a surprisingly hot and cold nature. He seemed like he either cared for something wholeheartedly and indubitably, or he couldn’t care less.

But sometimes he presented an odd gray area, where you were unsure if he paid a certain matter some thought or not. If you never asked, you would never know. He was also the type to keep his thoughts under lock and key and buried away forever – unless someone was willing to unbury them.

You suddenly felt his lips draw down against yours. “You still seem sad,” he murmured against you.

“Sorry…” You shuffled down off the bed so that you both didn’t have to strain to face each other. You found yourself wrapped up in his arms before you could even move to sit on the floor. That was one thing he did like a lot: hugs. He was always happy to open his arms up to you. “It’s probably because I’m tired.”

“Hm…” You felt one of his arms move down your body. You thought maybe he was going to wrap you up tighter in his arms or maybe pull you even closer to him. What you weren’t expecting was for him to reach down and gingerly wrap his fingers around your slightly swollen ankle. Did you mention that it was easy to melt into him before? Your heart was surely nothing but a gross ooey, gooey puddle now.

You reached down and gently pulled his hand away by entwining both of your fingers together. “I’m okay.” You could probably say it one hundred times and it still wouldn’t take in his worrisome mind, so you skipped over the rabbit hole before he could dive down it again: “How do you feel?”

“Good. Thank you.”

“About the game, I mean.”

“Oh.” He curtly nodded again. “Good,” he repeated. Honestly, you should’ve expected such an answer.

You rested your free hand against his cheek. “You don’t feel excited or anything?” He shrugged. You were well aware that Beel wasn’t exactly the most animated demon around. You weren’t unreasonable. You weren’t expecting something from him that he wasn’t. It just didn’t hurt to ask. “Beel,” you briefly tightened your hand on his cheek before you dropped it, “you’re a tough cookie to crack.”

You could practically see his thought process go from _mmm, cookies sound good right now_ to _wait, I’m a tough cookie to crack?_ “…I am?”

You carefully mulled over your next words. “Um, you’re very honest, but it’s hard to tell how you feel about things sometimes.”

His face dropped. “Oh.” _Dammit_. He spoke before you could even attempt to backpedal. “Is that why you’re sad?”

“N-No, that’s… No, it’s not you.” By the softening look in his eye, he wasn’t convinced. But honestly, a hidden strength of his was his observational skills. His ability to completely gauge and scrutinize someone from a mere glance was criminally underrated. You knew it wasn’t his intention, but you felt completely stripped bare under his eye. “Beel—”

“Are you sad because… I’ve been closed off to you?”

“You’re not closed off, just…” You found yourself lifting your hands, but you didn’t know what to do with them. You settled them on his broad chest. Maybe it was supposed to be a poor attempt at a reassuring gesture. (But if anybody needed to be reassured, it was you. His heart was still beating at the same steady rhythm it always did.)

“Just…?”

You knew he wouldn’t be satisfied unless you gave him an answer. Even if you made some type of excuse to brush past his question and you both moved on, it would forever stick to his mind. You knew it would just add on to his list of late night thoughts to hopelessly ruminate over. You couldn’t do that to him.

Your hands slowly sank down from his chest to his lap. “I… just overthink things sometimes. Sometimes I think… I don’t know.” It was hard to get the words out when he was looking at you so attentively, so unabashedly. It made you feel stupid for your following words: “Sometimes my mind tells me that you don’t like me.” His eyes shot down. “B-But I know you do.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll try harder.”

“N-No. You don’t have to do anything. I don’t want you to change—”

“But I’m making you unhappy.”

“You’re not making me unhappy.” His gaze were still cloudy and downcast. You leaned down to lock eyes with him. “I _promise_.” You placed your hands on his knees. “You know how I tell you not to feel bad about things that aren’t your fault?” He paused before he nodded. “It’s sort of the same thing. Sometimes our minds try to convince us that something is the truth when reality is different. I… That’s something I have to remind myself, too…” You shut your mouth then. You were talking too much.

You felt his hands move up and down your back before he pulled you closer. An imminent sense of regret was already surging through your system, but you tried to focus on his touch. He was always rock steady and so reliable. Always listening. Always watching.

You cleared your throat to break through the deafening silence that had developed between the both of you. “Are you ready for your surprise?”

†

Beel automatically pulled out a chair for you once you both finally made it to the dining room, but you shook your head. “It’s all about you tonight. Remember what you said your dream for the future was?”

His eyebrows drew together. “For… everyone to be happy?” You couldn’t help but smile at that.

“No, your _other_ wish. The first one you told me.”

“Um…” He then pursed his lips in thought. He would sometimes make the most adorable expressions without even thinking about it. “To own a pet chef?”

“Yes, that one. For tonight, I’ll be your pet chef.” He sat straight up in his seat. You could tell he was seconds away from drooling again. Once again, if he was a dog then his ears would have shot up at full attention right then and there.

“What did you make me?” Wordlessly, you slid a piece of paper from your side of the table his way. His lips quirked after he read it. It was an expression that normally would be read as annoyance to many, but you knew he was anything but. “Five courses… Breakfast, lunch, dinner, dessert… And the fifth course is a surprise too?” He read aloud.

“Yup! I settled on French cuisine because I remembered you said you’ve wanted to have a big French meal before—and you told me some Devildom food isn’t safe for humans to touch.” You cleared your throat. You didn’t mean to ramble. But judging from the look in his eye, he was hanging on to your every word. You took a nervous step backward. “I-I’ll, um, get the first course.” You rushed back to the kitchen. Everything was ready and still warm on a serving cart, you just had to roll it in.

You laid out everything in front of him. Your means were very much unconventional and would probably make any actual professional chefs shake their heads in disappointment – but this was Beel. As long as it wasn’t Solomon levels of stomach-churning, indigestion-inducing, pink bismuth-chugging bad, then he should be pleased.

Your idea for his first course, or appetizer – whatever it’s called, was breakfast foods. You laid everything out in front of him, and the amount food covered about one-fourth of the long dining table. You put down plates of various random French breads that you had collected: brioches, baguettes, boule, croissants, pain aux raisins, escargot (the bread, not the snail; but you couldn’t help but recall when he once ate a snail he caught in the garden), pain au _chocolat_ , _mouillettes_ – all paired with various butters, honeys, and jams. You could hear his stomach give the loudest rumble yet, so you hurried to place down everything else: eggs, pâté, gizzard, bacon, salmon, omelets, croque-monsieur and croque-madame, a bunch of cheeses, fruits, and then café au lait, black coffee, tea, hot chocolate, and hot chicory to drink.

“Beel, guess what.” He turned to you with a sharp frown. His stomach rumbled again, encroaching upon “earthquake levels” as he would call it. You picked up the empty plate you had set down in front of him, locked eyes with him as you brought it up to your lips, and took a bite of the plate. His eyes instantly widened. “The plates are _edible_.” You couldn’t help the laugh you let out when he gasped. You could practically see the stars in his eyes.

And with nothing else to hold him back, he got to eating. You scuttled back to the kitchen to make sure the next course was ready to be served.

†

You bided your time in the kitchen as he ate. You weren’t sure what else you were supposed to do, just stand there and watch him eat? (The funny thing was, you knew he wouldn’t mind. Whenever he ate, it was like the rest of the world disappeared to him.)

When you returned with your second serving cart and second course, you saw that the table was completely empty sans many a crumb. You had to pat yourself on the back for getting those edible plates and utensils for him.

“Are you ready for the second course?” He was leaning back in his seat and already had a distant look in his eye. He nodded, still enthusiastic. You parked the serving cart beside him. Your theme for the second course was lunch foods. Or at least, whatever you put together as “lunch.” You kind of freestyled your meals, honestly.

You remembered Beel once said that it was best to fill up on protein for postgame recovery meals, so you had put together a bunch of salads that were hopefully full of protein. Plenty of salads with plenty of lettuce, tomatoes, eggs, and various nuts and beans that you had scavenged together. And then you placed hearty bowls of bouillabaisse (fish and shellfish soup), lobster bisque, and _moules_ à la marinière (some type of concoction that was basically mussels marinating in wine). Oh – you went back to the serving cart – almost forgot the Lobster Thermidor. And cheeses, and crêpes, and lots of water and Demonus to drink.

When you moved to return to the kitchen, a hand caught your arm. “I want to eat with you.” Who would you be to deny him?

One of the things that Beel had long established with you was that he did not like to share. That was fine. It was an undeniable fact of life. You sat in the chair that he had originally pulled out for you. Looks like you were going to watch him eat after all.

Beel blazed through the salads and their plates at lightning speed like they were palate cleansers. He then, spoons be damned, held up the bowls of stew directly up to his mouth and chugged them down. You cringed as the dining room filled with the sound of him crunching on the shells of the mussels in the bouillabaisse and _moules_ à la marinière. He did it with such ease, as if he was simply chewing on sunflower seeds. As he nibbled on the stew bowls, he pulled the Lobster Thermidor closer to him. You could already envision what impending terror was in its future.

You should’ve been prepared for it, but you winced again when you heard the crunch of the lobster shell as he bit into it. The way he ate was certainly something extraordinary. In a blink of the eye, he was already gnawing on a collection of empty plates.

He licked his lips as he turned to you. “Was there Demonus in that?” You couldn’t stop the way your eyebrows shot up. He actually _tasted_ it?

“Um, yes. Usually Lobster Thermidor has brandy in it. Cognac, I think. But I thought you would like Demonus more.” He nodded in pure appreciation.

“Thank you. It was good. Everything was good.” He was already finishing off the final plate. “How’d you learn to cook like that?”

You shrugged. “I’ve had lots of practice. I wanted everything to be perfect for your victory dinner.” You almost jumped at his sudden chuckle.

He swallowed down the final remnant of the plate. “But what if I lost?”

“Then this would have been comfort food instead of victory food, I guess.” He seemed to enjoy that answer. He gave you a pleased smile, and as always, his smiles were contagious. You squeezed his hand where it rested on top of the table. “Are you ready for more now?” His stomach operated like clockwork. It had a too-short cooldown period after he ate and then reset all over again. You couldn’t even begin to imagine the certainly taxing life that the Avatar of Gluttony had to live. Having essentially a blackhole for a stomach? It had to be exhausting. You felt for him.

Beel stacked his other hand on top of yours. “I like it when you smile.” Oh. There goes his famous straightforwardness when you least expected it. “You look happier. I’m glad.” You stacked your other hand on top of his. He looked very content at the sight of your hand sandwich.

†

You rolled out the third serving cart. This time a cloche covered the massive plate resting on top of the cart. You could feel yourself beginning to tingle in anticipation as you pushed the cart beside him. You could feel your nerves buzzing and your hands vibrating as you gripped the handle of the cloche. It was time for the main course.

“Do you remember the list of human world food you told me you wanted to eat?”

Without hesitation, Beel rattled off his list: “Ratatouille, lamb chops, khao man gai, quesadillas, Monte Cristo sandwiches, and bonito tataki.” His mouth was already watering halfway through his answer.

You couldn’t wait any longer. You lifted up the cloche and revealed what was underneath: ratatouille. An _inconceivable_ amount of ratatouille. Enough to cover one-third of the table. Beel had to balance his much stronger arms underneath yours to help transfer the plate from the cart to the table. Afterward, you set down plenty of Red Demonus to drink.

You expected him to dig in with reckless abandon, but he paused. You watched in confusion as his eyes flickered between you and the steaming dish. Right when you fixed your mouth to ask him what’s wrong, he spoke: “I want to eat this with you.” _Holy shit_. You felt your heart stop for a second.

“W-What?” You stuttered out. Sure, you have eaten _with_ him plenty of times before – too many times to count, really – but he’s never _shared_ his own food with you. He was always considerate enough to get you your own portion, but he was never keen on sharing. It was an undeniable fact of life! “Y-You what?”

“I want to eat this with you,” he repeated. He pulled out the chair that you had previously been sitting in. You silently sat down, still in a state of shock. You yelped when he suddenly tugged your chair closer to him. He then picked up his fork. “Thank you for the meal.” He dug in.

You managed to break out of your stupor enough to reach for your own fork, but you didn’t move to eat. You couldn’t help but be hung up over the fact that _Beel was sharing his food with you_. This was unprecedented! Something for the history books!

A grunt pulled you out of your thoughts. Beel’s eyes were locked in on you. The intense look that he usually reserved for food-related matters was now redirected on you, and you trembled under his eye.

Something prodded at your lips. A fork. “Eat,” he said. His voice wasn’t demanding, but it still held weight. You opened your mouth for him. A delicious tanginess burst across your tongue. You hadn’t tasted any of your dishes, as there was no need to, but you had to pat yourself on the back for this one. It wasn’t half bad.

You had to return the favor. You scooped your fork into the vegetable concoction and held it up to his lips. Being together with Beel would make a person think there would be dates filled with feeding each other, but that was completely false. Beel didn’t like to be fed an entire meal because “it takes too long,” as he’s said before. So you were further stunned when he said, “More.”

You did as told. And he fed you back in between swallows.

It wasn’t until there were only a few bites left before he spoke again: “The team was going to Ristorante Six after the game.” He scrapped up the last few morsels.

“Oh yeah?” Where was he going with this?

“Yeah. I wanted to get a private room with you.” You watched as he began to drag his fork around the emptied plate. “I want to do a lot of things with you…” There was something about his tone. You couldn’t figure it out. “Like in the summer. I want to go to the beach with you. And eat shaved ice with you, and go surfing with you, and have a barbecue together. And in the winter, I want to have hot chocolate with you, and eat those chocolates with Demonus in them with you, and go sledding with you. And in the fall, I want to eat sweets from La Porte with you. And in the spring, I want to watch the flowers grow with you.” He halted his movements in the middle of the plate. “I like being with you. Food tastes better with you, and my stomach doesn’t hurt as much. I don’t know why, but it does.”

“B-Beel…”

“I like you.” He turned to you, all serious. “I like you a lot.” You felt your heart surge. “You always make me feel good. I’m sorry I haven’t been making you feel good too. I’ll try harder.”

“N-No, you don’t have to. You don’t have to do anything.” You quickly blinked your tears away. “I like you, too.” Your heart switched from singing to weeping. “I love you.” You thought he would at least crack a small smile at that, but he was still all serious.

“I love you, too. I love you a lot.”

You wanted to hug him until you suffocated, kiss him until you were breathless – but there would be time for that later. You settled for pressing a lingering kiss against his lips, and then stood up to your feet and cleared your throat. “Are you ready for dessert?”

†

Thirteen Desserts: nougat blanc, nougat noir au _miel_ , assorted fresh fruits, various pastries and sweet breads. But those were just mere side dishes for him. The centerpiece was a giant bowl of crème brûlée. Once again, Beel had to help you place it on the table. There was so much custard that your senses were completely overridden with the scent of vanilla.

He suddenly pulled you down to his lap before you could return to your seat. He kept one strong arm wrapped around your middle as he ate the side desserts. He began to bounce the leg that he had perched you on, and you weren’t sure if his motions were intentional or not – _no_.

No, it had to be intentional. He knew how to work you up – and he was always so damn nonchalant about it.

You loved how he was so much bigger than you. It was never something you formally confessed to him. He just figured it out on his own with his acute observational skills. You loved when he wrapped his arms around you and completely enveloped you, whether it was from the front or the back, your insides never failed to just _liquify_. And now was no exception.

It was so easy to melt into him. So, so easy. It was like there was a secret haven in the circumference of his arms, and you felt nothing but as safe and protected and secure as he always promised he would be to you.

You had been fidgeting and shifting around in his lap as he continued to bounce you on his leg. His arm around you tightened. You weren’t sure if he wanted you to sit still or not, but you weren’t at all distracting him from finishing his side desserts.

After he pulled the crème brûlée in front of him, he leaned down against your ear. “Feed me.” His voice was so hard, yet so soft. You couldn’t help yourself. You tilted your head up to press kisses along his jawline. You could feel a groan rumble through his chest against your back in response.

It worked both ways between the two of you. While he noticed you adored your size difference, you had quickly picked up on his oral fixation. It wasn’t something hard to notice, but it proved to be difficult to fully activate.

You cracked open the top layer of the crème brûlée and did as told.

You fed him with vigor, as he always liked. It was an atypical situation – with you feeling so delightfully small against him, him wanting you to feed him – so you welcomed it with open arms. You both were similar in the sense that you both weren’t often in the mood, and it took very certain circumstances to rile the both of you up – but the stars seemed to align for the moment. Sometimes you both would be riding on parallel lines, and one would gladly use their hands (usually you) or mouth (usually him) to relieve the other, but tonight both of your lines crossed paths.

You seized the opportunity when he turned your proffered spoonful of custard toward your own lips. You locked eyes with him as you slowly leaned down and sank down on the spoon and wrapped your lips around it. You let him gaze into your open mouth to watch as the thick vanilla coated your lips and your tongue before you swallowed it down your throat. A deep-seated redness replaced the previous faint flush across his cheeks. His grip further tightened around you. You could feel him begin to harden against your thigh.

After he got halfway through the dessert, you kissed him. Kisses with Beel were usually sickly sweet and chaste. His oral fixation slightly malfunctioned in the sense that he usually didn’t go for make out sessions. He preferred to keep his kisses light. But when his fixation was at full force, and he wanted to make out, it was _a lot_.

It was like you both were drowning into each other. It would get incredibly sloppy, incredibly fast. He was no stranger to allowing his mouth to openly salivate. Spit, saliva, drool – it dribbled down his chin, poured into your own mouth. Disgusting to most, perfect for you.

“Oh!” You disconnected your lips as a sudden thought hit you. A wet pout immediately formed on his face as you peeled yourself away from him. “Sorry, I forgot the drinks.” You reached over to the second rung of the serving cart and pulled out the two glasses you had filled. You passed one glass to him and kept one for yourself.

“Why do you keep giving me Demonus? It’s hard for me to get drunk.”

“Yeah, I know. I heard that it took a whole barrel of Demonus to get you drunk.” You raised your glass. “I still wanted to share a drink with you.” He made a grumbling sound before he clicked your glasses together. You both drank up.

“What are you drinking?” He asked. You collected both of your emptied glasses and set them aside.

“Um, not Demonus. Since that doesn’t do anything for me.” You then carefully pried yourself away from his lap. “Are you ready for the final course?”

A frown crossed his face. You could see that your question had launched his mind into a horrible dilemma: more potential food or more potential you? You knew Beel wouldn’t be able to easily choose. That was fine. He was going to get both in the end.

You picked up his hand and led him to the kitchen.

†

“This isn’t exactly French. It’s this thing they do in Japan called nyotaimori or nantaimori. It’s when you eat food off of someone’s body.” You caught Beel nod as he helped pull your shirt over your head. Your heart was beginning to thump against your chest. You now stood completely nude before him while he stood shirtless before you.

You had already prepared everything. You had cleared the center table in the kitchen and surrounded it with various herbs and spices, sauces and marinades, fruits and vegetables, meats and cheeses – everything and anything. Some were from the human realm and some were from the Devildom. Some burned to the touch. You had mixed everything together. You felt like playing Russian roulette tonight.

There were five forms of gluttony: eating too expensively, eating too daintily, eating too much, eating too soon, and eating too eagerly.

You lifted yourself up and lied back against the table. His eyes surveyed over your body. Open and ready for him. Always. All that was left was for him to let go and submerge in self-indulgence. You were going to give him the ultimate decadence.

“Do whatever you like.” He had his haziest look yet. His eyes were almost completely glazed over. “I’m yours.” His eyes went dark. The image would forever burn in your memory bank.

He unceremoniously dumped the ingredients you had supplied all over your body. And then he paused, like he wasn’t sure what to do or where to start. You gave him a suggestion. You lifted your leg. His brothers had threatened to eat you headfirst a handful of times, but honestly feetfirst was a much better option in your opinion.

He seemed to agree with you. He pulled your leg up until it was flush against his chest and you both were pelvis to pelvis, and began to lick away whatever substances he had poured on your foot, up to your shin. You couldn’t help it when your body weakly tried to grasp around him. “Beel,” you called out. Your voice was soft. It was already fading away. “I… I want to feel you. Please…” Without even removing his lips from where they were sucking against your ankle, he moved to undo his pants.

You felt yourself let out a slow breath when you felt his cock prod against your thigh. Beel was much bigger than average, the largest out of the brothers even. He would completely wreck your body if you allowed him to push inside of you without prior proper preparation. (You unfortunately knew this from personal experience.) It was a good thing you had stretched yourself out while he was showering, and again while he took his ice bath, and quickly again while he got dressed before you both had gone down to the dining room. You had a plan for everything.

You could hear yourself saying, “I want to feel you, I want to feel you,” over and over again, but you didn’t mean to. The words just spilled out. A direct faucet of your thoughts. Your last wish was to just _feel_ him. Nothing more, nothing less. You could feel your body begin to grow slack. Surely it would also loosen everything in the process. You were crazy prepared. It should be easy for him to just slip inside of you as if it was nothing.

And it was. You felt your mouth shut up when you got what you wanted, when you felt him prod at your entrance before he slowly pushed inside of you until he managed to bottom out. You could just feel your toes curl against his shoulder. He was always so warm, so good to you.

And when you managed to pry your eyes open again, you could make it out through the bleariness that cornered your vision: redness trailing down his chin, stemming from where your toes were supposed to be – but they were gone. He froze.

Ah. He had taken a bite out of your foot.

But you really did have a plan for everything.

“Beel,” you called out again. Your voice was a hollowed remanent of what it once was. “Can you… Can you still feel Belphie?” You could tell that his lips had twisted downward. He remained silent. “I… talked to him…” You slowly sucked in another breath, enough air to form another sentence. “He said…” Your chest was slowing. “He said, ‘Eat until there’s nothing left.’”

You knew once he got started, especially with explicit permission, he wouldn’t stop until he was finished. Through half-lidded eyes, you tried your best to soak it all in. It was a fascinating sight to see in all ways self-destructive and macabre, watching yourself be consumed bit by bit into him. All that remained was a faint sensation. Otherwise, it was as if you were watching someone else’s body begin to disappear into seemingly thin air. The skin and muscle on both of your legs had been eaten up to the shins by your third bleary blink.

You wished you could reach up to him, touch his cheek or his chest or anywhere your fingers could connect. You wished you could squeeze around him, feel him shift and throb inside of you and completely give in to being overstimulated and encompassed by him. But it wasn’t your turn to be the one who was overfilled until you spilled over. As you were emptied, he became filled. And that was okay. That was compromise. Relationships were constructed on give and take.

You weren’t sure if it was real or a figment of your foggy imagination when you noticed his horns were peeking from his hair. It wasn’t something implausible. You swore you could faintly hear the typical buzz his wings always gave. Like there was a hoard of flies in the room.

He was on to your hands. Blood soaked his lips, traveled down his chin, trailed down his neck, even dripped between the distinct ridges of his pectorals. Your one-track mind hazily focused on the blood tracking down his chest, edging its way to his abdomen. Your stilted ears were oblivious to the cracking of the bones of your hands as he bit, tore, and swallowed around them. _Phalanges, metacarpals, carpals_ … Oh. He was already at your elbow. He looked nice like this. Natural. Someone powerful and to be revered. Maybe this is what he did in his early demon days. You didn’t remember.

 _“I like you. I like you a lot.”_ You don’t know why the thought appeared in your mind. He cherished you so much. You could never truly understand why. (And vice versa, apparently. He once called himself a useless glutton. Just another meathead. An ill-fated demon. Had the least to offer out of all of his brothers. He had told you he had no redeeming qualities, nothing good to give you, and you had teared up on the spot. You couldn’t believe he thought of himself so lowly.)

It was getting harder and harder to keep your eyes open. Your extremities had been devoured. He was gnawing at the remains of your shoulder as his mind seemed to contemplate. You wondered if he had any conscious thought left or if he had shifted to the subconscious. You wondered if he was still inside you. If he had established a rhythm between your bodies, if he had remained stiff and unmoving inside of you, or if he had accidentally slipped out or purposely pulled out. (If he wasn’t focused on your face, you knew he liked to watch as his cock moved in and out of you. You wondered if he did that now or if his mind was too far gone. You wondered if he could come from this. You wondered what kind of pleasure he derived from this.) You wondered if you tasted good to him. You wondered if this was something he thought about before. You wondered if he ever fantasized about it. You wondered how much he liked you. You wondered why he loved you. You wondered if his hunger was satiated.

He made up his mind. Or, maybe his mind made up itself. Before your eyes rolled back, you caught his taloned fingernails bypass your stomach, your chest, and head directly for your face. Your mouth, along with the rest of your body, had grown completely lax. Your lips had easily fallen open at his touch. A shadow crossed over you. (He kissed you. He finally kissed you first. Your face was now coated in the blood he had drained from you. But you would never know.) And then darkness began to blanket everything.

Your final thoughts?

What an interesting demon, truly. Your heart would forever ache for him. Not all exits were so slow and tortuous to reach. But his was. Deceivingly simple. That was the motto.

†

Beel didn’t know how much time had passed. The world could be moving at a standstill or at high speed, but it wouldn’t matter. He always moved at his own pace. And this was especially true when he was eating.

It was like waking up after a long night. Maybe this is how Belphie felt when he woke up after sleeping the day away. Beel’s vision had to fade back in. His mind had to start shifting gears again. It all took a moment for him to feel some semblance of returning to the world.

He was in the kitchen. On the floor. He could feel the air against his bare skin. A mess. Everywhere. The kitchen, against his skin. Oh. He must have gone on another midnight rampage again.

 _Oh…_ Your clothes were in a rumpled pile beside him. His shirt was on top. _Where were you?_ There was something falling out of your pants’ pocket. A slip of paper. He idly scanned over it as he gathered your clothes together. Written on the paper were instructions on how to make a potion that operated as an anesthetic. Upon ingestion, it would cause for the user’s body to go numb and unfeeling. It said it would look and taste like wine, too. _Weird. Why did you have that?_

He felt his ears perk up. The sound of dripping. From above. Something was dripping from the kitchen’s center table. Blood.

He gathered your clothes to his chest as he got to his feet with a tired groan. And then he felt the clothes slip from his arms when he feasted his eyes upon the table. _Oh…_

Eating until there was nothing left wasn’t realistic. There was always going to be something left behind.

He could feel his stomach drop. He’s never felt that before.

Oh.

Oh no.

†

You woke up to the smell of perfume. Your vision had gone gray. You reached your hands out and you held on tightly when you felt hard porcelain in your grip. You tried to pull yourself up. It was too hot. Too hot. You felt so lightheaded and dizzy.

A delicate voice lilted through the muggy atmosphere. “Are you alright, darling? What’s wrong?”

“Y-Yeah.” Your vision began to clear. Asmodeus. He had an assortment of various beauty products gathered in his arms. You both were practically nose to nose as his eyes scanned over you. “S-Sorry.” You continued to pull yourself up. You were in his much too luxurious bathroom, in his much too luxurious bathtub. “The water’s really hot. I got overheated for a second.”

“Oh, really?” Asmo experimentally sank his own hand into the bathwater. He gave a slight shrug when he pulled his hand back. He seemed understanding, though. “You can wait for it to cool down, then. Would you like a robe, a towel,” his eyebrows waggled, “or would you prefer to stay au naturel?” You tried to stop your smile as you rolled your eyes. Classic Asmo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspirations:   
>  \- _starved for affection_ (doxx) - _beewolf (hymenoptera)_ (camakitsune) - "evil food eater conchita (beelzebub party)" (mothy feat. meiko) - "bon appétit" (katy perry) - _bonbon_ (2017 video game) - _lord of the flies_


	3. Pomp and Circumstance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“True love is as rare as true sorrow.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings:  
> \- recreational drug use.  
> \- consensual sexual intercourse while under the influence.
> 
> consummate? i think you mean commemorate. ♡ [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/azianotaiza), [carrd](https://azianotaiza.carrd.co/).

Between the options of a robe, a towel, or staying “au naturel,” you actually chose to stay au naturel (much to both Asmo’s surprise and pleasure). You only opted out of wearing a robe or towel because you didn’t want to risk further overheating. So, you were leaning near one of the bathroom’s vanity sets to cool down, away from the humidity halo that surrounded the pool-sized bathtub.

Asmo was at the other vanity set. He was humming to himself as he organized the various beauty products that he had carried in. “I can feel your eyes on me~,” he said in a singsong voice. “Are you checking me out? Do you like what you see? Are you so desperately craving some of my attention right now, hm?” You were surprised that you were the one watching him and not vice versa, with you standing around naked and all.

“Of course I like what I see. I always do.” Flattering him was just too easy. It was one of your favorite hobbies. And it was one of his favorites too, judging from the way his head immediately swiveled around to face you and shamelessly look you up and down. There was something about the way his eyes never failed to lose the same glimmer whenever he soaked you in.

He hummed to himself once he seemed to have gotten his fill. “I like what I see, too.” His voice was bordering on a purr. “I like it _a lot_ , in fact. Almost everyone looks best dressed in a state of nature in my humble opinion. _Especially_ you, darling. Have you ever considered nude modeling? Just imagine yourself as an art piece or on a magazine spread!” His eyes were getting starry with his fantasy. “That would be so—!”

“Glamorous?”

“Delicious!”

“Oh.” What an… interesting word to use. “Are you sure you wouldn’t be jealous if everyone saw me like this?” You were obviously teasing. Your question had the most obvious answer of all time.

“Of course not! I’m always proud to show my favorite things off to the world: first being me, second being you. Honestly,” he set down the products he was fiddling with and moved toward you, “it’s a downright _sin_ that you don’t show off more.” He set an unwavering hand on your bare waist. “Imagine this kind of confidence in public, in the limelight. You would be absolutely revered and worshipped.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that spilled from you. “Asmo, you’re so dramatic.” His fingers briefly tightened around you.

“Honest! Do you see what I see?” He used his other hand to hook it underneath your chin, and he gently turned your face toward the mirror behind you. “Truly, I always thought you were absolutely gorgeous—second to me, of course.” He pressed his lips against your ear. “Even I’m not selfish enough to hide you away from the world like the rest of my measly brothers would.” Your reflection was something that you had long grown tired of – but, honestly, the lighting in the bathroom didn’t make you look half bad. Definitely not model material like Asmo was insisting upon, but not half bad.

“Ah!” His hands fell from you. “I _have_ to take a picture! I forgot—!” His hands then clenched midsentence. His eyes suddenly widened. You leaned forward from the vanity toward him.

“Asmo? What’s wrong?”

“I smell… Hm… Oh!” A dubious look developed in his eyes. _Uh oh_. “My, oh, my! Were you having _fun_ without me?”

“H-Huh?”

“I can smell it on you, you know. It’s faint but it’s there.” He leaned toward you and you heard him intake a loud, dramatic inhale of the air around you. “Were you up to something before I came in, hm?” He set his arms on either side of you, trapping you against the vanity. “Is that why you’re so hot and bothered, dear?”

“No. The water was too hot.” Asmo’s idea of a “warm bath” was at a temperature well past the boiling point for you. “I wasn’t doing anything like that.” Asmo’s lips quickly drew down into an exaggerated frown. You heard him sniff again, and his frown deepened.

“Wow, your face seems to be telling the truth.” He pouted. “I don’t get it…”

“W-What is it exactly that you smell?”

“It’s faint and sort of faraway and fading, but you’re giving off this scent of pure, unbridled lust. Like you had just let go of all inhibitions and went crazy. Hm… And I could’ve sworn that you have the scent of someone else attached to you too, but that doesn’t make sense—unless you snuck someone into the bathroom?” He smirked. “Is _that_ why you passed out? Did you have a little rendezvous while I was gone?”

“No, no.” You patted his arms that were caging you in. “I just got too hot for a second. I’m not sure why you’re smelling what you’re smelling.” His frown returned. The scent he was claiming to receive from you was so nonsensically sensical that you didn’t know how to respond. You squeezed his arms as you tried to find the words to redirect. “Maybe I’m just excited because you’re here?”

“Oh, no. It couldn’t be that.” He waved one of his hands away at your statement as if it was completely incredulous. “I know it couldn’t be that, or else I would’ve suggested it in the first place. You’re special, you know?” He moved one hand to your side again, but this time his fingers wandered against your skin – as you expected from him. “May I?” He asked as his fingers began to trail downward. You nodded. He then stroked his hand across you. “See that?” He even held his hand up for emphasis. “Nothing! Absolutely nothing!”

“…Oh?” Sometimes it took him a second to get to his point, but you were always down to ride along for the journey it took to get there.

“I have a sixth sense for debauchery, you see, being the Avatar of Lust and all. And at first I found it suspicious that I hardly sensed it from you. At first I thought you were pent up and that I could be the easy, obvious ‘solution’ to your ‘problem,’ but…” He sighed. “Usually people fall to their knees begging at the sight of me, but you were the first who didn’t! I cried myself to sleep that night. I thought I lost my charm! Do you know how useless I felt when I thought I was powerless against a mere human?!”

“A-Asmo, don’t say that…”

“But it’s true! And I want to cry again when I remember the horrible things sleeping on a tear-soaked pillowcase did to my skin the following days… But, anyways,” his voice lowered, “I had come to a realization: you’re a _particular_ human. You’re not easily excitable or easily satisfied. Usually anyone, especially humans, fall apart at the press of a button.” He pressed a finger against the center of your chest for emphasis. “But that’s not you. You’re part of the one in one hundred, hm? You’re a rare type. Once I had my epiphany, I stopped feeling those icky pitiful feelings and went back to normal all over again. In fact, I felt invigorated! I decided to take you up as my little challenge and I’ve been even more virile since!”

“O-Oh, that’s… good?”

“Very good!” He seemed very pleased with himself. He returned to the other vanity and pulled out a camera that had been hidden amongst the beauty products. “Ah, don’t give me that look,” he said when he walked back toward you. “I came up with the brilliant idea to create a photobook. I wanted to take as many pictures as I can to consummate this night!”

“…Don’t you mean ‘commemorate’?”

“Eh? Didn’t I say that?” He then lifted his camera up and pointed it to you. “And this photobook will be a part of my _private collection_ , so don’t be shy~.” Asmo took a picture of you. The flash from the camera briefly lit up the bathroom in a burst of light. It was an instant camera. The photograph soon came out of the camera. Asmo frowned when he looked down at the picture. “Eh?! Why were you making this horrible face?” He waggled the photo in your face as if it was a major offense. “What’s with the scowl, huh? You’ll get wrinkles!”

You rolled your eyes. You walked over to the bathtub. The water was a bearable heat now. “Is your camera waterproof?” You asked. He glanced down at the camera and shrugged. “Let’s find out.” You stepped back into the bath. “I’ll take as many pictures of you to add to your collection as you want. You look, as you would say, _delicious_ in this lighting.” Asmo was quick to strip down and follow after you.

†

You and Asmo were sporting matching silk robes as you both returned to his bedroom. He let out a messy, exaggerated breath as he took a seat at his vanity (well, it was less so a vanity and more so an elaborate table-chair-mirror setup). He already had various makeup products strewn across the table. “What to do, what to do…” He murmured to himself, but his tone was lighthearted. He only fiddled around with his makeup for a second before he threw his hands up and huffed. “Ugh, it’s suffocating!”

You settled your hands on top of Asmo’s chair. “What’s suffocating?”

“The pressure! I mean,” he fell back against his chair, “what is the King of The Fall supposed to look like? Other than like me, of course.”

“Oh, did it get leaked that you won?” Asmo nodded. Tonight The Fall, his favorite club, was having a special event: The King/Queen/Liege of The Fall. They were crowning their favorite clubgoer for… whatever reason. Fancy nightclub antics. Even if you didn’t completely understand, you still knew it was a big fucking deal – to everyone, and especially to Asmo and the other potential contenders to the crown.

“A blessing and a curse,” he sighed. “It’s a nice guarantee to know that I won, but now I feel even _more_ pressure to dazzle everyone with my look when I accept my crown! Ah, wait, actually I need two looks: one to arrive in and one to accept the crown in… This is too much pressure, I just might faint.”

You placed your hands on top of his shoulders and made some type of poor attempt to massage them. “You didn’t plan any looks?”

He bit his lip. “I _did_. I planned, like, a dozen different looks but none of them _feel_ right, you know?” You nodded. “Ugh, I wish I could just dump this all on a stylist. I could just blame them if everything went wrong. It’s not as fun when I only have myself to blame…”

“You can blame me then.”

“…Huh?” Asmo turned to you with the most adorably confused look. Okay, maybe that sentence came out a little oddly – but it was a decent enough segue for your next point.

“I know you didn’t want to hire a stylist or anything because you didn’t want your look to leak, so,” you leaned down and pressed a kiss against his cheek before you walked to his closet, “I tried my best.” You found the coat hangers hanging up the two garment bags you were looking for. You could see Asmo’s eyes light up when you set the bags on his bed.

“Ooh~, you got me something to wear?!” Before you could even say yes, you found yourself on your backside on the bed, tangled up in Asmo’s arms. Every conceivable part of your face and neck was being smothered in kisses. “I love you, I love you, I love you~!” He smacked a loud, over-the-top kiss against your lips that left you laughing. “I love you so much!!”

“A-Asmo,” you gasped out, “your clothes are going to get wrinkled!” You gently placed your hands on his cheeks to pause the onslaught of kisses. “And you don’t even know what they look like! What if you don’t like them?” He let up and leaned into your touch with so much blatant adoration in his eyes that you were blinded.

“You already predicted my dilemma, and you know me so well.” He nuzzled against your neck. “I trust you. I trust your taste in fashion. I trust your taste in _lovers_.” He pressed a lingering kiss against the side of your neck. “I trust you with my life, darling.”

“Asmo,” you repeated, with more of a careful sigh than a feverish gasp. “Please don’t get your hopes up just in case you don’t like it.” Asmo’s mood was like a rollercoaster ride. They either went high, high or low, low.

Asmo pulled the both of you up, but kept one arm wrapped around you and pulled you close in between his legs. He used his free arm to unzip the garment bags. You could practically feel him buzzing with excitement against your back. It was like watching a child unwrap a Christmas present.

Asmo stilled when he freed the clothing within the bags. You could feel his breath halt against your neck. That could only mean two things: he either loved it or hated it. But just in case he hated it, you reached behind you to touch his neck.

You watched as his two-toned fingernails traced over the fabric of both outfits. You rubbed your thumb against his neck as you awaited his reaction. Asmo in (hopefully) quiet awe was something outstanding.

You broke the silence: “Do you like it?”

“Where did you find these?” His voice was so small, so stunned. The sudden return of his breath tickled against your skin.

A laugh startled out of you. “I don’t even remember, honestly. I put together a lookbook from a bunch of pictures I found on Devilgram and, um…” You pointed to the first outfit. “Um, my idea was the ‘Fall of Man.’ Your first look, it’s this print of the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. And then the second look, for when you accept your award, it’s this print of _Hell Screen_. I wanted the first look to be ‘temptation’—it’s lighter but has a hidden meaning to it—and the second look to be ‘corruption’—it’s darker and makes a statement. I thought this would be your type of thing…” You were talking too much, weren’t you? You began to chew at your lips as you shut your mouth.

You were expecting two things: either he was going to passionately gush about how much he loved it, or for him to seemingly trip over his words but still bluntly tell you how it wasn’t his style. What you weren’t expecting was for him to hook his fingers underneath your chin and bring your lips to his. It wasn’t at all like the chaste frenzy of kisses he had ambushed you with earlier, but something deeper, more passionate. He was always so unabashed when it came to expressing his emotion to you, like it was the easiest thing in the world to do. It was odd, but it was like both discovering a new side to him yet it was familiar territory at the same time.

Asmo ran his hands up and down your sides when your lips parted. “Thank you.” You weren’t expecting him to say something so simple. But the look in his eyes, the slight but genuine smile, the emotion in his short words – it made your heart burst. You could feel his grip on you tighten as he turned back to the clothes. “This must have taken you forever to get together, I can’t imagine…”

“Oh!” You pulled yourself from Asmo’s arms and leaned over the edge of the bed.

“What are you doing?” You heard him whine behind you. “But I can’t say I don’t appreciate the view, though…” You didn’t have a remark for that. You pulled out a goodie bag from underneath the bed and dropped it into his lap. “Oh? There’s more?” He tossed the pink tissue paper at the top of the bag aside and looked inside. You couldn’t help but smile when his face immediately dropped into a frown.

“What’s wrong?”

“Why would you get me this?” He pulled out a confectionary baggie and a bottle of richly sweet dessert wine. “You know I’m on a diet! And I just got my teeth whitened.”

You shrugged. “I figured that you deserve a treat. You can brush your teeth afterward.” You could see the internal struggle battle through his mind. Asmo had an undercover sweet tooth that you knew he tried his best to keep under control – but, honestly, he deserved a treat. “Can’t the day of be a cheat day?” You tried to reason. His frown deepened. “Come on, Asmo, I got you gummy worms! You have to eat them!”

“Fine, fine!” That was the last incentive he needed before he tore the bag open. “Are these from the human world? These don’t look like actual worms.” Oh, yeah. Gummy worms in the Devildom are actual gummified (was that a word?) worms.

“Do you prefer those? Sorry.” He quickly shook his head.

“No, it’s fine. I just haven’t had ones from the human world before.” He took a bite from a gummy worm, but it was Asmodeus, so he didn’t take a traditional bite. He snagged the worm between his teeth and stretched it out until it broke in half. “Ah, I almost forgot the human world loves super sugary sweets.” He offered the other half of the gummy to you. You ate it. An indirect kiss. He seemed more than satisfied.

“How about I pour you a drink while you take off your makeup?” It was quick, but you caught Asmo freeze slightly before he devoured another gummy worm. “I can’t believe you wore makeup while taking a bath…”

“Well, I always have to look my best,” Asmo shrugged, “and you were taking pictures of me, too.” He hummed before he swallowed down some more gummies.

“And do you want to do your own makeup, or do you want me to do it for you?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Did you plan a full look for me?” You nodded. “ _And_ you can do makeup? Since when? Why didn’t you tell me?” You waved your hands at his barrage of questions.

“I just watched a lot of tutorials on DevilTube and had an idea.”

Asmo reluctantly scooted off of the bed. “An idea isn’t necessarily going to produce results~,” he reminded you in a singsong voice.

“I know,” you murmured, but he had already disappeared into his bathroom.

†

It was something minute, something that was quick and easy to miss, but you were finely tuned to the movements of Asmodeus.

When Asmo returned from the bathroom with his makeup removed and his bangs already pinned back, he immediately spun his chair around to face you – but you didn’t miss the way his eyes darted away from the mirror beforehand.

“What do you have in mind for me, darling?”

“You’re already looking at it.”

“…Eh?”

You walked over to him and ran your fingers through his hair. You remembered how he once told you that allowing other people to touch your hair was a sign of trust (and that he would never give any of his brothers the right). “Did you get your hair done at Goëtia or did you do it yourself?”

“Hey, don’t ignore me!”

You patted his shoulder as you reached over him to forage around his table. “Do you have any more hairpins?” His arms hooked over yours and pulled you down to his eye level.

“What do you mean, ‘you’re already looking at it’? Are you going for a natural look tonight? Or maybe perhaps some soft glam? What exactly are you planning here?” His tone wasn’t exactly desperate – because Asmo didn’t _do_ desperate, _thank you very much_ – but it was definitely apprehensive.

Barefaced Asmo was a sight to behold to you. His everyday makeup routine already covered up too much and his night out looks completely camouflaged everything. Makeup was something remarkable, honestly. It could turn a person into someone else entirely – namely Asmo, and not just solely in a physical sense, but internally, too.

To the unaided eye, he probably didn’t look too far off from his everyday look. But to all eyes his bareface was _definitely_ different from his clubbing makeup looks. He, along with a majority of the other clubgoers at whatever nightclub he landed at for the evening, enjoyed extremely eye-catching, extravagant looks – and it was understandable. Nightclubs had darker lighting, of course everyone wanted to look as flashy as possible to catch attention by any means necessary.

But you had something different in mind.

“I’m planning on pinning your hair back.”

“And then?” His fingers tightened into your arms. Was it subconscious? “Which one of those DevilTube tutorials are you going to put into use?”

“Oh, I saw this one on how to do this sort of elaborate design with hairpins—”

“What about with makeup?”

You gave a small smile. “Asmo. I was just planning on pinning your hair back and that’s it. You can do your own makeup if you want, but my ‘vision’ was just this.”

He laughed. The sound was completely humorless. “Oh dear, please. Stop joking around.”

“I’m not joking.”

“You’ve got to be.” He let go of you. “You can’t expect me to just go out there barefaced. I’m being crowned King of The Fall tonight.”

“Exactly. And my plan was that I want everyone to see your face.”

“…What? I’m sorry, darling, but I think I’m missing something.”

You kneeled down and placed your hands on his knees as you looked up at him. “I always thought you were absolutely gorgeous—”

“Now you’re just throwing my own words back at me—”

“—and I wanted everyone to _see_ the King of The Fall. I wanted everyone to see how naturally beautiful he is.” You bunched up the fabric of his robe in between your fingers. “Even if he can’t see it himself.”

His mouth opened, then closed. He then sat back and crossed his arms. You knew it wasn’t an act of submission, but he was willing to wait and see and adjust accordingly. “Where’s that drink you promised me?” His mannerisms were so Lucifer-like, it was almost laughable.

You slid your hands up to the tie of his robe, and when he slightly tilted head, you untied it. You then took the liberty to run your fingers across his exposed skin as you reached behind him and grabbed his glass off the table. “Are my hands cold?” You asked as you handed his glass to him.

He shook his head. “No.” He took a long sip from his glass. “They’re just right,” he breathed out. “You look nice like this. On your knees.” You… didn’t have a response for that. You should’ve expected such a remark, though – so you weren’t surprised. Once you completely undid his robe, he allowed for the garment to glide off of his body like steadily cascading honey.

Asmo was a self-assured nudist. Everyone knew that. Whenever he was naked, no matter the situation, he always had a permanent semi-smirk on his face. But for now, he only looked displeased. He even crossed his legs as he took another sip of his drink. “Hey, Asmo,” you called out. He raised an eyebrow as he locked eyes with you over his glass. It was nice to see both of his eyes focused on you, now that his bangs were pinned back. “Can I take a picture of you?” His lips downturned. “Please, Asmo?”

“Do as you like.” You could feel his body tense beneath your hands. “You already are anyway.”

You mimicked his pout. “Don’t be mean,” you said in a surely poor imitation of his voice. He didn’t seem particularly amused, but at least some of the tension eased from his body. You gave him a quick kiss as you stood up. His lips tasted like the wine: sinfully sweet. You licked your lips as you grabbed his camera from where he had set it from the corner of the table.

Asmo only leaned into his hand as he looked at you. He made no efforts to pose. He probably thought of it as a throwaway picture – probably thought this entire _moment_ was a throwaway altogether. _He has another thing coming_ , you thought as you took the picture. You set the developing photograph aside before you moved in closer to take another one.

There was a certain gleam in his eye as you lowered the camera. You only silently handed the photos to him. He halfheartedly took them. You could practically pinpoint the moment the gleam in his eye converted into his ever-so-familiar glimmer. It was a sprout of contemplation. You pounced on it.

You tapped your finger against the photos. “You say delicious, I say divine.” You then traced your finger across the back of his hand, up the trail of his arm, and stopped once you reached his chin. The heat that always struck between you both: intoxicating. He lifted his glass and you watched as the rosé liquid disappeared through his lips and his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. He then held the glass up toward you.

“Can I get a refill?” He smiled. It was small and etched with reluctant acceptance. You couldn’t help but smile as you took his glass and went to fetch the bottle. “Not too much, dear. I don’t like to ‘pregame’ like Mammon. What’s the point of stumbling around like a drunkard _before_ you go to the club, you know?”

†

After some time you managed to arrange the hairpins (diamond encrusted, of course), and Asmo managed to empty the bag of gummy worms. He pursed his lips when he set the emptied bag down. “Ugh, I’m going to break out from eating all of this sugar…”

“ _After_ tonight,” you reassured. “You’ll be fine.” You leaned back to properly face him to ensure that not a hair or pin was out of place.

He tsked. “Such a shame,” he sighed.

“What is?”

“That you didn’t think to give me any cream pies as a snack, too.”

“Oh? Sorry.” You then backtracked, “Wait, no, you were just complaining about it, and now you want _more_ sweets?”

“I’m sorry, dear, I’m all over the place right now. You know how my mood goes up and down and how my mind goes back and forth. It’s so bad.” He began to let his fingers dance across your arms. The way that he hummed around his words, you could sense an air of foreshadowing. You readily braced yourself for impact. “Well, since you didn’t think to give me any cream pies, I guess we just have to make one of our own.” _There it was_. You laughed.

“Asmo, you’re so gross.” He squeezed your arms before he pulled you down.

“It takes two to tango, darling. And if I recall correctly, you can get just as, if not more, ‘gross’ than I could ever imagine being.”

“Oh, yeah?” You were nose to nose. “So, you’re saying that a mere human outperforms the likes of the Avatar of Lust?”

“Hm… I wouldn’t go as far as to say _that_ , but—” he leaned up until both of your lips were just a hair’s breadth away from touching “—would you be up for the challenge?” The feeling of his breath directly against your lips made your skin tingle. Why had you both been circling around each other all evening? _Because during the hunt, it is always more tantalizing to play with one’s food than to directly attack it_.

“What kind of challenge are you proposing here, _Asmodeus_?” His full name slipped off your tongue like velvet, and was very much effective from the way you felt his fingers twitch across your arms. You caught his eyes take a measured glance downward before they locked with yours again. Ah, the front of your robe was hanging down and he could see everything from your lowered angle above him.

“How about I start it off and we’ll see if you’re up for it, hm?”

“Alright.” Your voice came out as a whisper.

You swore there was an addon to his already heaping amount of natural charm with you viewing his face up close and naked to the world. He finally surged up and connected both of your lips together. You had managed to convince him to comprise on using lip balm instead of any lip glosses or lip tints – but still, you appreciated the variations each lip product gave whenever you kissed. You liked the sudden tartness of tints, the syrupy stickiness of glosses, the candied flavors of balms. And maybe you were making the fact a bit _too_ evident from the way you were sucking on his bottom lip with practically no provocation.

Asmo wrinkled his nose when he pulled away from you, but you could tell the expression was in good fun. “You’re already trying to shove your tongue down my throat after one little kiss? Are you really _that_ starved for a taste of me?” He made a moue of faux distaste. Always fastidious, always cloy. “But I think you must have gotten me mistaken for someone else when you were kissing me, though.”

You gave a short, confused laugh. “Huh? What do you mean?”

“Catch up, silly. The way you were kissing me, it was very Beelzebub-esque, you know?”

Your heart skipped a beat. “…H-Huh?”

“Don’t play dumb! I’ll never forget the one time when you had the absolute audacity to kiss me after you made out with Beel. You two are so sloppy, I could only taste him when I kissed you.”

“You know what Beel tastes like?” You hoped that your laugh sounded more so joking than nervous. “That’s kind of weird.”

“Ugh, I _wish_ I knew what Beel tasted like.” Asmo then hopped out of his seat and stepped around you as if he didn’t just say something arguably salacious. He then resettled in the swing on the other side of his room. Never before had you seen an indoor swing in real life, and never had you ever seen one modeled to look like it was being held up by vines. Of course Asmo would pop that cherry for you. His room was something straight out of a catalog.

“Alright, doll face, let’s do something simple for tonight, okay?” _You swore there was an addon to his already heaping amount of natural charm with you viewing his face up close and naked to the world._ Speaking of naked, he uncrossed his legs once he made himself comfortable amongst the pillows in the swing. “Can you get my D.D.D. for me? And the camera, too.” You did as told.

“Do you want to take pictures like this?”

“Sort of. You see, The Fall hasn’t had the _tightest_ organization when planning this entire King-slash-Queen-slash-Liege of The Fall Event. First off, they already made a huge oopsie with letting the fact that yours truly won leak a day prior; and second off, they wanted to do these pictures and videos for promotional reasons, but check my last message.” You flicked on his D.D.D. and right on the home screen was a message sent only a few minutes ago. Must have been when you were doing his hair. “They’re just _now_ are telling everyone to submit something in! We also have these editors or whatever assigned to us. They said to submit about twenty photos and an one minute video. I have plenty of pictures ready, but no video.”

“Oh? What does the video have to be about?”

“Promoting yourself, essentially.” Asmo waved his hand.

“Do you have any idea on what you want your video to be about?”

“Of course, I do! Start recording on my D.D.D. I have to submit a video in the next five minutes, I believe.”

You set the camera aside and slowly held his phone up. He was still very naked. “Do you… want me to record from the shoulders up, or…?” He vigorously shook his head.

“Nope. Get everything.” He spread his legs further apart. “ _Everything_ ,” he repeated. Once again, you did as told. “Are you recording?” He breathed out. You nodded. He then proceeded to reach down and wrap his hand around himself. The lesson of the evening: expect the unexpected. You tried not to show your brief startle in your hands, and kept his phone steady as you recorded.

He leaned against his free hand as his cock began to quickly harden in his occupied hand. “I love playing games with you, you know.” He said it so casually. As if he was simply talking about the weather over tea. “I initially thought that you were going to be a plaything, not a playmate.”

You raised your eyebrow. “And this is supposed to be ‘simple’?”

“Well, well, well. Simple for _you_. Simpler than the edgeplay we could get into.” He let a moan tumble from his mouth unapologetically. “But I don’t want to get any marks or blemishes on me tonight, _especially_ since I wouldn’t be allowed to cover it in makeup.” The potential bitter bite to his voice was softened by another moan as he began to quicken his pace.

Earlier, did he really say that _you_ should do nude modeling? The sight before your eyes right now deserved to be erected (pun intended) forever. He was an Adonis seated atop his throne. It was poetry in motion. The way that his long lithe limbs stretched down to perfectly arched feet, with toes that were slowly beginning to curl out of instinct; to his free arm – spotless, creamy skin – that trailed down to long, immaculately manicured fingers that just touched at his open mouth out of reflex, but not fully covering because he had nothing to hide. It was just you, him, and the camera.

Asmo typically spoke and whined loudly in public, being the attention seeker that he was. But when things really got down to it in private (or sometimes in public, you two weren’t shy of an exhibitionistic and sometimes even voyeuristic moment if there was willing company), he was all hushed tones and whimpers. His voice went higher yet softer, somehow more vulnerable once it reached wavering levels – such as now.

What more was there to say? You had a thing for pretty boys.

You were rendered breathless as you watched his hand give one final squeeze around himself before his breath hitched, he hissed, his back arched, and his leg subconsciously pulled up until his knee was near his chin. His thumb quickly swirled over the surely sensitive head of his cock as he came. Cum dribbled down his knuckles. A rosé colored blush spread across his cheeks.

When he opened his eyes, as the planes of his petite chest heaved up and down, you could see his pupils were fully dilated. It was like he was looking _through_ you. He always seemed to, like it was so easy, like he was merely looking through a glass wall.

You stopped recording and set his D.D.D. aside and grabbed the camera. You didn’t have to ask, you knew. He lowered his leg and settled back after you snapped a couple of pictures. “How was that?” You honestly didn’t know how to answer. “Speechless, I see. Let’s see if you can top that. If you’re up for the challenge, of course. The winner will be _fabulously_ rewarded.” He then held up a peace sign and did a cheeky smile for your final picture before he completely relaxed. “Can you submit the video for me? Just send it to the editor who texted me.” You swore you had an unwilling side job as Asmo’s personal assistant sometimes.

A mere few minutes after you sent the video, while Asmo was in the midst of getting wiped down by you (with a tissue; unfortunately for him, you had turned down his suggestion to use your tongue), his phone began to buzz. He picked it up with his clean hand. You could practically sense the distress coming from the other side of the line. “What do you mean? I sent my video like a good boy, just like you told me to. Is it—Ah!” He suddenly hissed. You looked up at him. “Don’t squeeze too hard, alright? Unless you’re in the mood to make another tape, darling~.” You shook your head. He could really drive up the bimbo charade when he wanted to. You moved on to cleaning his hand. “Okay, okay…” You caught Asmo roll his eyes when you stood up. “Whatever, whatever.” He then hung up. You disposed of the tissues in the trashcan he kept in the corner of the room.

“What was that about?” You asked, though you could already guess what.

“My editor was so shocked! I do love the fact that there are some demons who are the innocent type, like Levi for example. Oh, and he said something about to be careful tonight or whatever.” He said his last statement a little too nonchalantly for your tastes.

“Hm? Be careful of what?”

“He said since it leaked that I won, the runners-up might try to seek revenge~ or something. Eh, who cares. They’re all bark and no bite. They’ll probably cry about it on Devilgram or something for pity points and then seethe about it for the rest of the millennium.” He then stood up and gave a quick yawn, and then gasped when he pulled his hand back from his mouth. “I chipped my polish! Do you see that?!” He then showed you that, yes, he did indeed chip his polish

“That’s fine. I was planning on giving you a manicure, anyway.”

“Ooh?! You’re the best~!” You were then clobbered into another hug.

†

You had honestly only really went clubbing when you were tagging along with Asmo or Mammon (and occasionally with Solomon and once, on a rare and outstanding occasion, with Diavolo and Barbatos). Club culture was still ultimately foreign to you. You never fully understood it no matter how many times you tagged along – especially in the Devildom, and the entire King/Queen/Liege of The Fall event was throwing you for a major loop. You stayed glued to Asmo’s side, as you usually did whenever you went out to whatever club was the spot for the night with him, and he never let go of your hand, anchoring you two together.

You squinted your eyes whenever the strobe lights beat against your face and you held back an automatic “excuse me” whenever you bumped into a demon, or succubus or incubus, or witch or warlock, or any other creature from far and wide that was attending. You never let go of Asmo’s hand the entire time as he stopped to chat various people up and to accept compliments on his look and outfit. You actually got to witness a slight bashful side to him whenever someone said something to the effect of, “You’re not wearing _any_ makeup? Seriously?! You look so gorgeous!” His voice always softened as he thanked them and his hand always squeezed yours whenever it happened.

You went through the usual motions of being Asmo’s plus one (aka his silent shadow), until you felt his lips press against your ear and he whispered, “Do you want some?” You looked up and saw that there was a waiter in front of you both, offering a tray of what appeared to be drinks and small metal containers. “These kinds of drinks work on humans,” Asmo added.

“What’s that?” You asked, pointing at the metal containers.

“Um, I guess it’s similar to what you call ecstasy in the human world.” You quickly took a glass as to not have the waiter waiting for too long. “I’m not sure if it’s effective on humans, but you could try it if you want to. I don’t think it’ll do any harm otherwise.” Curiously, you took a container as Asmo took his own glass and thanked the waiter.

“Do you ever take these?”

“Sometimes. If I’m in the mood.” He shrugged. Asmo then continued to lead you to whatever destination he had in mind. You tried your best to look inside of the container when flashes of light managed to luminate it. You could see various pills of various colors with various images etched into them. Mostly body parts; some phallic, some vaginal, some neither, both, or in between.

“Alright, we’re here!” Asmo announced. You looked up. He had led you to a staircase closed off by a velvet rope. He said something to the stoic faced bouncer standing in front, and they unhook the rope and gestured for Asmo to walk up.

“What’s this?” You asked when you both reached the top of the staircase. It was a mezzanine with a bunch of comfortable looking couches with a few small tables in between them. There was a perfect overview of the club over the railing. You could see all the creatures and monsters bumping and grinding with a perfect bird’s-eye view.

“This is my little VIP area. Reserved just for me—and now you too.” He released your hand and plopped down on the nearest sofa.

“Oh?” You sat down next to him and set your glass and container aside. “‘Now’? Who else have you invited up here?” You butted in before he could open his mouth, “Actually, tell me about the most memorable person you’ve brought up here. I can feel you preparing a soliloquy.”

“Touché.” Asmo patted his finger against his chin. “Well, Solomon only let me invite him up here once—and he was no fun! We only made out for a little bit before he had to go back to Purgatory Hall for something. The audacity! He’s so particular, and not like you, but in a weird way. Being with him is half satisfying, half frustrating. I don’t know why I continue to try.” He then gasped when another memory came to mind. “Oh! I got Barbatos up here once.”

“Oh, really?” Barbatos was a known tough cookie to crack. And whenever there was a rare opportunity that he allowed a small crack to be shown in his foundation, he never allowed it to be prodded at. He always preferred to play observer. Oh, the things you and Asmo would do to get the Royal Butler’s gloves on the both of you. “What happened?”

“Nothing! Ab. So. Lute. Ly. Nothing. As always.”

“So you got a bluejob?”

“I got a nojob! He somehow got caught up with the rest of the waiters and started serving everyone.” Asmo crossed his arms. “Barbatos is the worst,” he grumbled. You sympathetically patted his knee. He then looked over at where both of your glasses were settled. “Oh, wait.” He picked up both of your glasses. “I wanted to have a toast.”

“To you already winning?”

He smiled. It was so wide, it was still blinding in the low lights. “How did you know?” You both clinked your glasses together. After you both took a sip from your respective drinks, he picked up the container you had taken. “Are you going to take these too?”

“Should these really be mixed with alcohol?”

“Of course not, silly. I didn’t mean now, but in general. I just want to know if you do, to see if these work on humans. If so, I have a lot of ideas in mind for the future. _A lot_.” He quirked his eyebrow. God, he was so stunning with his full face on display. You couldn’t help but kiss him.

You heard him set the container aside as he kissed you back. You two had been circling each other all night. Was now finally the time to pounce?

You heard a groan of frustration leave your lips when he disconnected your kiss before your tongues could touch. You could feel him smile when he latched himself on to your neck. “Do you see that?” You pried your eyes open and tried to force them to somewhat readjust to the dark atmosphere as you looked around. There were LED displays in the front of the club, predominately above the stage. A familiar sight greeted you: Asmo’s video. Your eyes snapped shut again when he teased the skin of your neck in between his teeth. “Are you up for it?” He breathed against your skin. “Are you up to try and top that?”

That was the second time he had asked you that. You knew he didn’t underestimate you – as he had called you a “playmate” instead of a “plaything” earlier; and that was a high compliment in his book – and you knew he would never pressure you either. You leaned back. He had that dark look in his eye again, daring you but not pushing you. You licked your lips as you looked down at the crowd of writhing bodies below. Your idea had already long formulated in your mind. You could still taste his lip balm.

You reached out to the table beside him as you grabbed the unforgotten metal container. “Do I chew these or just swallow them?”

“Just swallow them, darling. You’re great at doing that.” You popped open the container and selected a pastel pink pill inscribed with a depiction of a completely unknown genitalia to you. Before you could take it, Asmo said, “Let me see it, let me see it!” You handed it to him. He held it close to his face and inspected it with a squinty eye. It really could easily be mistaken for candy. “Alright,” he said once he was satisfied. “Open wide for me.” You opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out for him. He placed the pill on the tip of your tongue and then closed your mouth by placing his hand underneath your jaw. “Now swallow.” He thumbed his finger over your lips as he watched the up-and-down motion of your throat as you swallowed. “If it does work, you should start to feel something in about ten minutes or so.”

“Ten minutes? That’s pretty fast.”

“Yes. _If_ it works, that is.”

“Hey, are those your fans down there?” Asmo followed your finger down to where you were pointing.

“Yes, it is! You recognize them?” His voice took on the same softened tone it always did whenever he was caught off guard and astonished. It made your heart ache at the fact that he was always surprised whenever someone noticed something about him that wasn’t face value.

“Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?” You pressed a kiss against his thumb that was still lingering at the corner of your lips. He seemed very pleased with himself. You gave him another kiss before you stood up and grabbed his hand. “Shall we go say hi to them?” You wondered if he could sense the plan brewing in your mind. Maybe he did, judging from the way that his smile was borderline knowing.

Asmo opted out of handholding and slung his arm around your waist instead. “We shall.”

†

You remembered the first time Asmo formally introduced you and announced your relationship to his fans. You had expected a riot to ensue, but you were surprised when Asmo informed you that the response was mostly positive. Sure, there were bound to be some jealous, negative comments and he got a few unfollows – but you were still so surprised to this day that you were welcomed by Asmo’s fans.

Maybe a little _too_ welcomed. You were immediately greeted with tight embraces and “friendly” kisses on every square footage of your face when you and Asmo went down to join them. And you swore that one or two sniffed you for some reason. After gushing over Asmo and his look and congratulating him, everyone resumed dancing.

About three songs in, you were starting to feel it.

Your body was heating up from the inside out, and it was like all five of your senses were enhanced and finely sharpened. You could _feel_ everyone, everything. All of the bodies swaying and grinding together, the sweat and glitter dripping from them, the bass pulsating through the speakers, the smell of alcohol and perfume and exhilaration and desperation. The colors of the blinding lights swirled together as you felt your body loosen and your mood heighten. You just wanted to reach out and touch.

So reach out you did. And your hands immediately connected with the closest body to you. Almost immediately lips pressed against your own. Not Asmo. You didn’t taste lip balm. And there was a forked tongue invading your mouth. Must have been one of the nearby succubi that you were dancing with.

You felt the hands around your waist tighten. _There_ he was. It was like you were breathing in slow motion when you felt the kiss you were caught up in forcibly disconnect and you were turned around by a hand on your jaw. “Ooh~,” your heart tightened – _Asmo_ , “is _that_ what you’re planning?”

“Maybe,” you breathed out. You wondered if your words were slurred, or if you were speaking too loudly or too softly. Your and Asmo’s hips have been practically glued together since you both came down to dance and he hasn’t let up on you yet. Asmo wasn’t the overly possessive type, though. You figured he was chaperoning you in case the pills were indeed effective. “Touch me?” You asked. “I want everyone to touch me.” Your voice couldn’t have been more than a mere exhale.

The reaction was instantaneous. With your and Asmo’s bodies so close, you could feel his cock budding against your back when you both began to dance. Now you could feel him fully prodding against you. Everything had a motion blur added to it. Everywhere he or someone else connected with your skin, you felt like you were on fire. The overstimulation of dozens of lips pressed all over your body, or spying the same for his fans that were immediately around you – now it finally felt like this was your night as much as it was Asmo’s.

You shuddered when you felt arms hook around your legs and lift you up. Hands began to roam your body like a free-for-all. The voices around you weren’t swirling. You were still coherent and in control. Just elevated. On a higher level.

They were too loud, unfortunately. A selfish part of your mind just wanted to listen to Asmo. So you discarded the eager groans and various utterances about how the situation was turning into a fantasy come true. You chuckled as you began to shift your clothes aside. Eagar hands happily lifted and pulled down your clothes until your body was exposed for everyone.

You briefly recalled a few steamy nights with Asmo when you two would read the forbidden fantasies Asmo’s fans had written about him on his fanclub forum. You still felt the same faint sense of shock at the stark difference between the material written before and after Asmo announced your relationship. In the aftermath, suddenly _you_ were added to a part of the equation – an accepted extension in the world of Asmodeus in the eyes of his admirers. They wanted anything and everything that was Asmo, and that included you, too. And honestly, you couldn’t blame them. Though you were immune to Asmo’s artificial charms, you had hopelessly fallen for his natural charms.

His voice. You loved his voice. It was a perfect melodic pitch. High, soft – but not shrill, not annoying. Always pleasant to listen to. A tremor erupted through your body when he spoke directly into your ear. “Set some boundaries, darling, before we get started. Any limits?”

“My mouth, my hands, anything is fair game. Except this,” you reached down and stretched yourself open to a collective series of gasps and whimpers, “is off limits. Property of Asmodeus.” Asmo’s laugh in response was filled with pure glee. Your chest tightened at the sound.

“I’ll stay right behind you the entire time and I’ll make sure no funny business happens, okay?” You nodded. “Are you fine with your safe object being three taps in a row with your hand against me?”

“Yes.”

“Alrighty then.” He pressed a kiss against the shell of your ear. “You look so gorgeous like this, you know? You’re so perfect, just like this. I’ll cherish this moment forever and ever. Ah, I wish I had my camera!” _Any expressions nor any sentences can contain all of you. We will be perfect as we are now._ If you were on the outside looking in, did you look as perfectly artistic and Louvre-ready as Asmo did in his video? You heard him murmur something about everyone being gentle from above you, and then you commenced to sink into an inconceivable sea of pleasure.

What exactly was the pleasure principle? The thought ran through your head as fingers, from thickly stubby to knifelike manicured, plunged into the readily opened orifice of your mouth. _Ah_. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as someone else rutted against your feet. The pleasure principle was the instinctive seeking of pleasure and the avoidance of pain. Something surely Freudian, something definitely sex-based and about the id or superego or whatnot.

You learned so much from Asmo during your time spent with him. One lesson from him was surprisingly about escapism. You’ve never would’ve taken him for an escapist when you first met, but he taught you about how the body and sex could be linked together to create a new form of escapism that you had never even considered before. You sometimes pondered how the Avatar of Lust, desire incarnate, still managed to feel pleasure after millenniums – and he had been glad to demonstrate why to you.

 _“—it’s like an escape from reality into another world. You’re using your body to get out of your body, essentially.”_ At first you didn’t completely understand him, but over time you did. And in this exact moment, you felt like you were levitating. And when you felt Asmo finally sink inside of you from behind, your body was singing _electric_.

Your eyes briefly shot open, and your vision was filled with the LED display ahead of you. The loop of videos had restarted and Asmo’s video was replaying. It was like he was watching you from both above and below. Maybe even from beyond. An unnameable feeling always clumped up in your chest whenever you were pinned underneath his eye.

You could feel someone attempting to fight for dominance in your mouth. Both of your hands were busy: one grasping around maybe two, three different people, and the other plunged deeply inside of another. You could even feel someone sliding themselves in between your toes.

But you only truly cared about one thing. You continued to only focus on Asmo’s voice and the feeling of him moving inside you. He was murmuring a series of nonstop pleasantries in your ear. His words were directly piercing your heart. Must have been an effect of the pill. (Must have been because you were in love.)

 _Almost there_. Everyone was moving faster, upping the tempo. Your body was beginning to tighten like a spring. The tension was getting harder. You wondered if everyone was watching. Or if nobody cared. Maybe both.

You were the catalyst. The moment your body began to seize with orgasm, everyone followed after. And when you heard a choir of a session of orgasms, you felt like you had finally reached the enlightenment level of Asmo’s lesson. Ascending and bending others at your will. This was pure debauchery, baby.

You gasped in a loud breath of air once your mouth was freed. You heard yourself wheezing out, “ _Asmo, Asmo, Asmo,_ ” over and over again without thinking about it.

“I’m right here.” The words were directly pressed into your ear. Just where you wanted him. “I’m right behind you, darling. I’m happy you didn’t forget about me~.”

“Never, never.” No one else mattered. Just him.

He turned your head around and crushed your mouths together. His voice finally hit its crescendo in your ear. He let out a high whine as he stilled the rhythm of his hips against yours. You tightened yourself around him as he came. You didn’t want to waste a drop.

†

Asmo and the bouncer from earlier carried you back to the VIP section once it was all said and done. You more than willingly lied sprawled out on the couch, completely boneless. You could feel Asmo meticulously wiping you down with a spare towel that was lying around. You cracked a smile. _He’s returning the favor_. He even helped you redress yourself.

The first thing you said when he pulled back was, “Did I top you?” Your voice was hoarse and your throat felt used.

“Oh darling, you can top me anytime, you know.” You chuckled and rolled over slightly to look over the club. The stage was darkening and the music was slowly becoming less hammering.

“Is the ceremony about to start?” You asked.

“Oh, it is! You distracted me! I have to go!” Before he could leap away, you latched on to his arm. You don’t know how, you still felt like you were moving through a pool of molasses. He raised an eyebrow as you pulled him down to give him a goodbye kiss. “I love you lots. I’ll be back in a second, alright?” You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t have to say anything like “good luck” since he already won. You just gave him another kiss and sent him on his way.

You felt him smile into the kiss before he trotted down. He had his second outfit to accept the award in the changing room behind the stage. All was well on that front.

You tucked your hands underneath your head as you watched. You didn’t have to squint. Cameras were on the stage and live footage was being broadcasted on the LED display. There was someone, probably the club owner, giving some type of speech – but only Asmo filled your mind.

Asmodeus was a special someone. He had been a cookie to crack. Asmo loved to preen and present himself as a piece of sour candy with only plastic love flavoring – but you knew better. There were so many layers underneath his sugarcoated artificial coating, aka his pretense. You managed to crack him open and break him down, but sometimes it was hard to tell. Sometimes the truth became the pretense. Sometimes the pretense became the truth. Sometimes the pretense covered the truth. Sometimes the truth covered the pretense.

But you remember one deep night, when you were in the midst of giving him the best aftercare you could, when you asked him something to the effect of: _is desire an ideal?_ or maybe _is desire_ the _ideal?_ You weren’t sure exactly what you were asking, but he seemed to at least. _When you leave your body, is that your true nature?_ You don’t exactly remember his answer – maybe he had uncharacteristically beat around the bush at the moment instead of being his usual straight up self, since he was in his rubbed raw, vulnerable postcoital state – and the nail in the coffin was when you said: _I don’t think you’ll find any satisfaction in the future you’re heading toward. I only see misery if you keep bottling yourself up like this_.

You remembered afterward. He had cried. He had cursed at you for worsening his sub drop. And you apologized profusely, and internally cursed your horrible timing. You had gathered him in your arms as he trembled and cried. He asked why were you being so cruel to him, asking all of those intrusive questions?

But he hadn’t experienced true cruelty just yet.

_“—and he said something about to be careful tonight or whatever… He said since it leaked that I won, the runners-up might try to seek revenge…”_

It was the moment Asmo was handed over the award by the club owner. It was in the exact split second. No one had any time to stop it. There was barely any time to react. There were buckets rigged at the top of the stage, just hidden from view. And they upturned and spilled some sort of black substance all over Asmo. You weren’t sure if it was food or paint or perhaps the pitch black blood of a creature you didn’t know about. But it didn’t matter. His moment was long ruined.

Silence.

You were expecting some shocked gasps, maybe even some shouts. Just _some_ type of commotion. But you only got deafening silence. All of the clubgoers were in a simultaneous state of silence.

The only sound that registered in your ears were the sound of your fingers fiddling with your metal container of pills. You popped a few in your mouth, you didn’t know how many, and washed it down with the remnants of both your and Asmo’s drinks. Your nose automatically wrinkled at the taste of room temperature alcohol, but you swallowed it down.

And then, a laugh.

And Asmo. Oh, you could practically read his mind in that moment. Only the acid-hearted runners-up who had pulled the stunt against him were laughing. But in his mind, they were _all_ laughing at him. Everyone in the crowd. Everyone watching. They were all laughing at him. They had all plotted against him.

_Everyone hated him._

Many a time the brothers had made comments about Asmo’s infamous temper whenever he was truly angry. It was a rare sight to see. Now, you had a front row seat to the occasion.

First: the lights flickered. On and off, on and off until they burst. All the lights. The strobe lights, the LED displays, the spotlights that lit up the stage – gone. Pitch blackness. _Now_ you heard murmurs of concern.

Second: an odd red light filled the room. Not from a backup generator, but it emitted from Asmo. Red light flickered here, there – and then you heard it. It was like a pop and then an explosion. Something too disconcerting. Blood flew everywhere. Once everyone registered that one of their fellow clubgoers had just spontaneously combusted, mayhem ensued. _Now_ you got the screams that you had been expecting.

Heat. It was slowly rising within you at the tips of your toes. _Too_ slowly. You muttered a spell to yourself, directing your hands toward your body. The spell you were incanting was usually used as an attack to lower an opponent’s defense, to make them more susceptible to being charmed and bewitched, but you were using it against yourself. You felt your inhibitions lower and heat quickly filtered into and flooded your system as a result.

Crashes. Screams of terror. Destruction. You could only catch glimpses of the devastation through the various bursts of red glares that emitted from Asmo. Red lit up the stage lights bursting and sparkling electricity everywhere, igniting the curtains and catching the stage side of the club on fire. Red lit up the LED displays falling and crashing into the crowd, crushing clubgoers underneath as if they were nothing but mere ants. Red lit up the attendees who were caught in the direct line of the crossfire, with their bodies overheating and exploding into nothing but meaty bits and smoke on the spot.

Frenzy. Hysteria. Madness. Didn’t demons fiend off of fear? The red light was only growing stronger. This was beyond the pleasure principle.

A metallic groaning sounded above you. Your brain was still one step behind. Your mental five-second delay still replayed the swaying motion of the mezzanine’s support structure as it came loose. There must have already been irreversible damage done and a quickly spreading pool of blood beneath your head once you registered that you fell. The mezzanine fell. You couldn’t even feel your head bleeding out or the sure unalignment of your spine. Just heat. Just pure fire invaded your senses.

Chaotic feet stepped around you, on you, trying to fruitlessly escape the slaughterhouse that The Fall had turned into. You suspected that there were people crushed underneath the rubble beneath you, too.

The sound of a keen ripped through the atmosphere for you. You tried in vain to turn your head to the direction of the sound, but you couldn’t move. _Asmo_ , your brain repeated on autopilot. _He’s crying._ He always liked to be held a certain way whenever he cried. Like he was fragile. Your fingers twitched in his direction.

“—hy me?! Why me? Why…?” Beside you. “Why?” Above you. And then Asmo infiltrated your vision. He had wiped away the black from his face, but his hair and clothes were still soaked. “Why, why, why?!” Red haloed him again. It was nearly blinding up close. Another crash. You didn’t even have any brainpower left to try and fathom what the sound could’ve been.

You wanted to reach up to him, but you couldn’t. Your fingers only twitched again. His hands reached down to you, and a heat as hot as flames internally ignited where his skin connected with yours. Not hot like accidentally touching a stovetop or lingering too close to the fireplace. Hot like gasoline had been poured directly on your insides and a lighter was ignited inside you.

He tucked his head into your chest as he continued to sob, as your internal temperature spiked. “You never say that you love me! Why don’t you ever say that you love me, too?!” Whenever Asmo became truly upset, he would go into inconsolable hysterics. He would seemingly bring up random topics as he cried and cried, but they weren’t random. They were the thoughts he kept locked away coming to the surface. “It hurts. It hurts so much,” he cried into your chest. “W-Why me?”

It took a second to work your lips. “I love you.” You could barely hear it in your own ears. “I love you,” you repeated, maybe louder. “I’m so sorry.” You cried with him. You cried for him. Until the fire traveled to your head. Until you absorbed his red light. Until you shattered into a million pieces in his arms. Until you had nothing left to give.

†

You woke up to the feeling of icy coldness. Your head was killing you. You touched at your forehead as you stumbled to get to your feet. The skin of your hand didn’t greet your forehead, but the yarn of a mitten did. You were in the snow, in some indiscriminate forest area at the bottom of a steep hill. And judging from the straight tracks in the snow that stretched up ahead of you and to the top of the hill, you must have fallen.

“Where are you?” A voice called out. Satan.

“Down here!” You called back. Satan, also appropriately bundled up for the cold, appeared at the top of the hill. “Did I fall?”

Even underneath his coat, you could see the incredulous look on his face. “Why are you asking _me_ if _you_ fell?” He shook his head as he began to descend down the hill toward you. “You truly are something else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspirations:   
>  \- _climax_ (2018 film) - _carrie_ \- _janet._ (janet jackson) - _move_ (taemin) - "a" (rainbow) - "pomp and circumstance" (umetora feat. divine-diva) - _blackout_ (britney spears)


End file.
